A Ferret in the Burrow
by PonderingPotter
Summary: 8th year with the Slytherins? Harry isn't sure he'll survive it, and a potion gone wrong may very well prove him right when Draco Malfoy is involved.
1. Chapter 1

"Don't know what McGonagall is thinking, rooming us with a bunch of Slytherins. I've only just survived a bloody war, I don't want to die being smothered in my own bed." Ron complained, while clicking His deluminator habitually. The candle on Harry's bedside kept lighting and going out, and it was starting to give him a headache the more Ron fiddled with it. Hermione was sitting cross legged on his mattress, chewing her lip thoughtfully and watching the light move back and forth slowly.

"It might not be so bad; she wouldn't let them stay with us if she thought they were any real threat." She finally muttered, although she didn't sound convinced, and Harry noticed her rubbing her forearm as if as an afterthought. If he looked closely, he could see the bottom of her scar peeking out from under the sleeve of her jumper, and it made his stomach coil in apprehension for the second time within a matter of minutes.

"I hope you know this is your fault." Ron said, and sent a glare at Harry from across the room, finally stowing the deluminator in his pocket, the candle flickering at ease once more on the nightstand. He shrugged and added, "If you hadn't forced us to go back for the git in the room of requirement we wouldn't have this problem."

"Ron, that's a terrible thing to say!" Hermione scolded, although she didn't put her whole heart into it, and seemed to freeze up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She untucked her legs from under her and stood quickly, her fingers just brushing her wand before Neville appeared in the doorway, a smudge of dirt on his cheek and a potted plant in his hand that resembled a pink cactus.

"Hermione." He nodded politely, and gave a sheepish grin to Harry and Ron, asking, "I'm guessing you thought I was Malfoy and Zabini, or you're just really unhappy to see me? Slytherins are on their way. Saw them in the halls, levitating their trunks in this direction. Parkinson's whining about the lack of house elves this year; heard her from a floor away."

He settled his plant on the windowsill, and seemed to grow uncomfortable with the silence that met his announcement, shoving his hands into his pockets and muttering, "Sun's shining. It's good quidditch weather. Think they'll let us play this year?"

"Oh, they'd better." Ron snorted, "I'd love to spend my last year wiping the floor with Malfoys pointy face."

"Now, now, I thought we were on the same side now, Weasel." Came a drawling voice from the doorway, and the four looked up in alarm to see Malfoy leaning against the doorway, his trunk levitating at his shoulder. Zabini was tilted to his side to look around it and into the room, turning his nose up once he spotted Ron.

"Doesn't mean we like you." Harry hissed, and immediately felt his nerves flare up in indignation at their snotty attitudes. "And you could be a little more grateful, seeing as it's our room you're sharing, and my endorsement that kept you out of Azkaban."

"Details, Potter." Malfoy said, stepping into the room and waving a hand dismissively in Harry's direction. Now that they could see him properly, Harry noticed he looked different than he had several months ago. He still seemed pale and thin, but he wasn't so sickly, and he had cut his hair, which had been shaggy and dirty the last time he's seen it. He had a short white scar at the corner of his upper lip, and his left eyebrow had a nick in it that matched. Zabini looked relatively the same, with his sloped nose and high cheekbones, and Harry couldn't recall if he had been there for the final battle or not.

"Merlin," He announced, walking passed Malfoy and dropping his trunk with a quiet and unsettling crash at the bed farthest from the door, just across from Nevilles, "Parkinson was right; this room is cramped. Color scheme is terrible too; nothing like ours."

Malfoy smirked, and made for the bed beside Nevilles, but Ron whipped his wand out and spat venomously, "No. This side is ours; that side of the room is yours."

Malfoy seemed ready to challenge this, but Hermione had pulled out her wand as well, and said softly, her voice eerily calm, "You heard him; that side is your side."

Malfoy raised his hands in mock surrender, and sent his trunk to rest beside Zabinis, his eyes hardening when he said coolly, "Alright, Granger, whatever you say."

Hermione nodded stiffly, her eyes never leaving his, and swallowed with difficulty. "I'm going up to the girls dorm; make sure Parkinson hasn't touched anything that isn't hers."

"What would she want with a mudbloods things?" Zabini snorted, and instantly found four wands being pointed in his and Malfoys direction. He looked startled, but his face quickly relaxed into a smirk as he said, "So sorry...it slipped."

Hermione grit her teeth, and Ron opened his mouth to protest, the red riding in his face and clashing horribly with his hair, but Hermione cut him off with a ground out, "I forgive you, then."

"Well, at least one of you is civil." Zabini scoffed, and sat on his bed with a deliberate slowness, as if trying to make it all the more obvious that it was now his territory. Hermione ducked out of the room quickly, and green eyes alighted on Harry as he asked loudly, "What's the matter Potter, cat got your tongue?"

"We don't use that word here." Neville spoke up suddenly, stepping forward in front of Harry's bed, his fist tightening around his wand. "We didn't fight a war just for you to go back to your old prejudices. If you're going to say you're on our side during the battle, you have to mean it afterwards."

"And you have to apologize to 'mione." Harry added quickly, to which Ron vigorously nodded.

"Sounds fair. But what about our rules?" Malfoy asked coolly, and rested his elbow against his footboard.

Rons face went practically purple and he half-shouted, "You don't get any-"

"It's our room too, Weasel." Zabini sneered.

"We'll compromise. You won't talk about blood purity or blood traitors, or use the M-word, and I guess we won't talk about how you're both cowards and only changed sides to save your own skin." Harry snapped venomously, and took pleasure at the way both Slytherins faces darkened.

"You little-"

"What? I said I wouldn't mention it." Harry smirked innocently, and Zabini growled dangerously.

"How about these for the rules: Slytherins have that side, and we have this one. The little space between the beds to the door is neutral. We won't talk about anything before the war."

"That will be hard for Potter." Malfoy said, and flopped onto his bed to lie on his stomach, his chin resting him his palms, "He loves to bring up the sob story that is his life."

"Stuff it, ferret." Harry sneered in return.

"Right, then." Neville said patiently, and Harry was silently impressed by the spine he seemed to have suddenly grown. He didn't take him as somebody who would naturally take charge. Ron was giving him an equally appraising look, and it seemed that Malfoy and Zabini noticed the change from the boy they knew as well. He seemed to know he had their attention, and stood a little straighter, clearing his throat to continue, "Okay, so, uh, we'll follow those rules, and we won't insult each others families, and we should be able to get through the year without killing eachother. We can add rules as we go, I suppose, if we all agree on them. Harry, Ron, anything to add?"

"Yeah; they don't come over to our side under any circumstances, or they'll get it."

"It's not a bloody war zone, Weasley, don't be so dramatic." Malfoy snorted, and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, Zabini was sniggering into his hand.

"Noted, Ron." Neville said, then turned to the Slytherins, asking with a controlled voice, meant to sound neutral but struggling to come across that way, "Anything you two want to add?"

"We can decorate our side however we like. Red and Gold are terrible together."

"No insulting each others houses." Neville added at that, but then nodded slowly, saying, "I suppose that's fair, though. And no hexes. If we ignore each other, we should be able to get through the year."

Harry and Ron exchanged a doubtful look. It was clear that nobody quite believed it.


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out, as luck would have it, that not only did eighth year Slytherins share a dorm with the Gryffindors, they also shared a head of house. Harry had expected Slughorn to look after the Slytherins in class, but by lumping the two houses together, they had somehow become one group, and McGonagall had adopted the extra three Slytherins as a part of her own house, thinking it an act of unity.

To be fair, Harry supposed all of the eighth years shared classes, but he would have much preferred the three remaining Slytherins didn't have seats that were assigned so close to his. Slughorn didn't make it any easier, either, by pairing him up with Neville, an amused sort of twinkle in his eye that reminded Harry far too much of Dumbledore. Ron was lucky enough to have Hermione, and Zacharias sSmith, the Hufflepuff, had grudgingly moved to share a table with Malfoy in the back of the room, while Pansy and Blaise were busy gossiping over a cauldron to Harry's left, covering their mouths and sending him sharp glances whenever he looked in their direction.

Harry kept a watchful eye on Malfoy, expecting him to grin and immediately start in about how much he hated Harry to Zacharias, but the pair merely scowled at one another, and pushed their things to opposite ends of the desk, ignoring each other once they had evenly split the ingredients. Harry was so distracted, certain the Slytherin was up to something, that he didn't hear Blaize leaning across the aisle to speak to him until he rapped on the table and snapped agitatedly, "Potter!"

"What?" Harry asked, his attention returning to face the Slytherin, whose face was twisted into an ugly sneer.

"I said, 'you chop the wormwood into half inch cubes', not quarter inch strips." Blaise snorted derisively, and made a sharp gesture toward Harry and Neville's desk.

"Oh." Harry said, surprised by the advice, and tried to decipher if he should be grateful for the help, or offended wth the way it had been given. Neville didn't seem to notice the exchange, too busy triple-checking the instructions in his textbook to pay much attention to anything else. By the time Harry had decided to thank the Slytherin, Blaize had already returned to his desk, whispering behind his hand to Parkinson once more.

Slughorn wandered between the pairs, stopping to compliment Hermione and Ron, who both beamed as he awarded ten points to Gryffindor. He merely nodded at Blaize and Pansy, saying softly, his voice wobbling uncertainly at the challenging look Parkinson was giving him, "A half a turn more will set you straight, I think. Err, excellent work, five points to Slytherin."

Harry stiffened automatically when he saw the rounded belly and bristled mustache coming up beside him, and he hoped Slughorn didn't expect him to be as well learned about potions as he was the last time he was in the mans class. Hs hope popped like a balloon when the man leaned over to peer into the cauldron with a smile, only to pull back again with a puzzled expression, saying in confusion, "You're losing your touch, Harry. No matter, you'll do better in the next lesson; its a bit difficult to ease back into brewing if you haven't practiced for some time. Longbottom, perhaps you ought to let Potter measure that out; Professor Snape did say that this wasn't the class for you."

Harry automatically looked around the room at the three Slytherins for a reaction at the mention on Snape, but it seemed none of them had quite caught it, and he twisted back around, disappointed. He wasn't sure what he wanted, exactly, but he had expected there to be some sort of reaction; that somehow they would have picked up on the quiet use of the mans name, and It would have spurred them to show some sort of grief of reverence. Slughorn moved on, circling the classroom again, and Neville nudged Harrys elbow, asking with creased eyebrows, "You alright? You seem a little put out."

"It's just strange, isn't it?" Harry sighed, and took the stirring rod Neville offered quickly, checking the instructions briefly before he began stirring, and continued, "It's like nothing happened; all the Slytherins are acting like the war didn't even take place."

"What do you expect? They're Slytherins; they're not really known for their vast show of emotions. You're kind of like that too, in a way; real stoic sometimes." Neville shrugged, then said casually, "Thats twelve counter-clockwise stirs, Harry, you're only supposed to do ten."

Harry stopped immediately, and frowned, muttering, "When did you get so good at potions?"

"I'm not. I just know how to count, is all." Neville smirked, and Harry almost laughed, imagining first-year Neville being as confident as post-war Neville was. It was almost refreshing that at least that had changed.

He nearly mentioned it, but lost the opportunity when Slughorn cried in alarm, "Smith, Malfoy, that's enough! It's only a potion boys, no need to bring the wands out!"

Indeed, both Malfoy and Smith were out of their seats and poised to duel, fire shining in both their eyes, faces hard and closed off, revealing nothing but anger. Sparks spewed out of Zacharas's wand, which he clenched in his fist so tight his knuckles were white. Neither boy seemed to hear Slughorn at all, or notice that the entire class had stopped brewing to watch them with interest. Malfoy hissed dangerously, "I switched to your side, but don't think I won't use my knowledge from my days as a Death Eater on you if you ever question me like that again."

Harry noticed that Zacharias's nose was bleeding, and tilted at ann odd angle, and he almost wished he had seen Malfoy hit him. Blaize had crossed his arms and was leaning back against his desk, a mix of worry and amusement on his face. Zacharias snarled back, his voice thick due to his broken nose, "Why don't you do it, then? Word has it that you'r no stranger to the cruciatus curse, after all. Is that how daddy got you to get that ugly tattoo on your arm? A few helpful crucio's to aid in the persuasion?"

Harry thought it was very lucky for Zacharias that Neville spoke up right then, calling out across the room demandingly, his voice loud enough in Harrys ear to startle him, "O! We all bloody fought in the war and ended up on the same side one way or another, it's useless to throw that all away now! Malfoy, you're not a Death Eater, so don't talk like you are. And Smith, He's not the enemy here, and his experience in the war is none of your business. Just leave each other alone, will you? It's out eighth year; lets just put this all behind us."

"Well said, Longbottm. Thirty points to Gryffindor for resilience and reason!"

"He may not be a Death Eater," Smith growled, stowing his wand in his pocket angrily as Malfoy lazily replaced his on the desk, "But he is still a massive git."

"Can't argue that." Malfoy shrugged casually, smirking to himself, "It does take one to know one, after all."

Zacharias's face seemed to go ten shades darker at the comment, and before anyone could react he had buried his fist into Malfoys cheekbone, and rammed his knee directly between his legs, both actions hard enough to force the blond to the floor with a groan, a hand against each injury.

"THIRTY POINTS FROM HUFFLEPUFF! TWENTY POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN!" Slughorn was shrieking, but it hardly seemed to have an effect, as Zacharias ignored him and swung his bag over his shoulder, marching out of the classroom in fury, the door banging shut behind him. The classroom was silent besides Slughorn muttering to himself in alarm, a hand splayed over his chest as he flushed with the loss of adrenaline. He panted out, his chest rising and falling, "Potter, Longbottom, please escort Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing."

Harry moved first, and gathered up Malfoys things off of the table, including the wand, which felt warm and familiar in his hand, as if it still wanted to be acquainted with him after all the months after giving it back to its rightful owner. Neville was busy easing Malfoy to his feet, and was smirking to himself by the time the three had entered the hall, Malfoy limping and groaning as he leaned against the Gryffindor. He mused to himself, "I hate to say this, but I can't count the number of times I've wanted to do that to you myself. What did you do to start a fight, anyways?"

"He commented on my pictures from the trial, and asked me how long i reckoned my beard would be if I were in Azkaban right now, where I belong." Malfoy answered with a sigh, and it was clear from the look on Nevilles face that he hadn't expected the blond to answer, much less like that.

"Is that when you broke his nose?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

"No, that was a few minutes later."

"What did you say when he asked you that, then?' Neville gaped.

"I told the truth; said it would probably be pretty scraggly, but still wouldn't compare to that of his mothers." Malfoy shrugged, with a sly little smirk that had Neville stopping short to laugh. Harry felt himself grinning with amusement too, and Malfoy caught it, saying sheepishly, "Live a little, Potter, it's okay to laugh once in a while."

"You really are a snake." Neville said, once he had finally stopped chuckling, "Went right for the jugular, didn't you?"

"As is expected of a Malfoy." Draco sneered sarcastically, and Harry almost wondered if the blind wasn't as bad as she had thought after all. If anything, they could bond over their mutual hatred for Zacharias Smith.


	3. Chapter 3

Pondering 3

Harry was wrong. Malfoy was not somebody he could get along with, no matter how much they both hated the sandy-haired Hufflepuff that made a hobby of insulting them both. Neville didn't think Malfoy was so bad, and urged Harry to give him a chance, which made Harry wan't to scream back at him that he Malfoy had used up a hundred chances and he had reached his quota on giving out new ones.

Things had been okay for a few days following the potions mishap, and Harry was almost relieved to have one less enemy, but reality came in the form of Slughorn, who had bustled down the aisle of the classroom three days after the incident and cried, "Longbottom, you seem to be getting along prettily with Mister Malfoy! Perhaps a change in partners will do you well! He's almost as good at potions as our Harry is, after all!"

"We're switching partners?" Harry asked in alarm, his stomach sinking, "But me and Neville work great together!"

"Oh, it's nothing to do with you, Potter!" Slughorn practically gasped, his hands folded over the swell of his belly as his mustache shivered. "McGonagall suggested that Malfoy and Smith ought to work separately, is all. She believes that Neville would be better suited to partner up with Malfoy, and you can take a lead on assisting Smith-or, rather, he assisting you."

"But why?" Harry demanded, horror creeping up into his chest as Zacharias met his eyes with a sneer and started towards him, cauldron held in front of him like a purse. Harry returned the sneer tenfold, and he heard Hermione huff behind him, and shush Ron's protesting. Clearly he had overheard and was just as ready as Harry to testify to the unjust nature of letting the pompous Hufflepuff anywhere near his table.

"Malfoy can't play nicely, that's why, Potter." Smith cut across, nearly bowling their professor over as he settled in Neville's vacated seat and stuck his nose in the air, like a hound trying to catch the scent of meat. He added snidely, while Slughorn took the opportunity to bustle away, looking relieved to be interrupted, " _Not_ that it is any of _your_ business." 

Harry chanced a look back at Neville, expecting him to be equally upset about the change, but the boy was facing away from him, and had turned towards Malfoy in his stool, his elbow resting on the tabletop as he let the blond explain something in the instructions that Neville must have overlooked. _At least one of them wasn't miserable,_ he decided. Ron reached across the table to pat Harrys shoulder consolingly, and he looked back to see Hermione grimacing at the back of Smiths neck, just as unhappy that he had invaded their little corner of the room.

It wasn't necessarily Malfoy's fault, he knew, but a knuckle of blame had formed at the end of his navel that he wasn't quite ready to let go of, especially after all the gloating looks Malfoy sent his way when Smith would make a nasty comment, or ignore Harrys advice badly enough that a potion would bubble over onto their desk, spurring Slughorn to waddle over at his quickest speed, crying in alarm, "Not to worry, not to worry, just help Weasley and Granger instead! Stay a few minutes after to clean the mess, of course, but try to learn the potion, there will be a test on this at the end of the year!"

Malfoy paused at his worksite every time this happened after class, holding a perfect vial of his own and smirking at the mess that was drying on the table as Harry scrubbed. Neville sometimes hovered at Malfoy's elbow, looking mildly uncertain, before he waved a goodbye and walked out of the room with Ron and Hermione, who were empathetic, of course, but in too much of a hurry to make it to lunch to wait for him. He decided to assume they wanted to avoid Smith, who had taken up insulting Ron's hair in some strange attempt to establish authority over the group. He had tried to correct Hermione in the first week of his partnership with Harry, and had nagged her for so long that her face turned bright red, and she cast a wordless hex to glue his tongue to the roof of his mouth, rendering him speechless. He had blamed Harry for that, and kicked him under the table, and it made Harrys blood boil to hear a faint laugh from Malfoy across the room.

"Potter, did you hear me?"

"What?" Harry asked, suddenly snapping back to attention. He was scraping the remainder of a blackened potion off the floor. Todays experiment had ended with a slightly more violent explosion than normal, and there was a dark stain on the ceiling to match the rust-colored potion on the floor.

"I said," Malfoy repeated, looking down at him through narrowed eyes, his thin face pinched in disgust, the scar on his eyebrow furrowing just slightly, "You missed a spot. On the lip of the table, just there."

He pointed a crooked finger, and his eyes glittered with malice, but Harry set his jaw and instead scraped at the gunk Malfoy was gesturing at, holding up the brush he had been given by Slughorn once he was finished and asking sharply, "There, have I got it?"

"Not quite." Malfoy shrugged, and knocked his elbow against the cauldron on the desk so that the remaining potion dribbled out the mouth and coated the desktop in a fine new layer of yellow-brown fluid.

"Malfoy!" Smith hissed in outrage, and looked for a moment like he was about to throw himself across the table and strangle the blond. Harry had honestly forgotten the Hufflepuff was there, and the reminder made a sour taste rise in his throat.

"Oops." Malfoy grinned nastily, his hands held up in surrender, palms flashing innocently, "My mistake, so sorry. Well, I'd best hurry to lunch, wouldn't want to miss the treacle tart. Happy cleaning, boys!"

And then he was gone and Harry was filled with bitter resentment. He couldn't tell which boy he hated more.


	4. Chapter 4

"Maybe you misunderstood." Neville was saying as he walked alongside Harry towards breakfast the next morning, "Maybe he really didn't mean to do it."

"It's Malfoy," Ron snorted, wrinkling his nose, "Of course he meant it! He loves torturing Harry!"

"He isn't like that in potions, though. He's actually really helpful, most of the time."

"Are you hearing yourself, Neville?" Ron scoffed, and crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, "He's a nasty little ferret, and he always has been."

"Exactly!" Harry agreed determinedly, "Just last week he tripped Luna down the stairs! You were there, you saw it!"

"I saw him apologize and help her up, too." Neville pointed out quietly, his face going slightly pink, "It was an accident. He helped Ginny find a book yesterday too, when we were in the library."

"He did what?" Harry asked, stopping short. Neville paused in place and was clearly not keen on repeating himself, so Harry instead said, "He helped a Weasley? Is that what you're trying to sell me right now?"

"Just ask her, if you don't believe me." Neville said sheepishly, "He was really just trying to help. I mean, I'll admit, he was still a right prick to her, of course, but that's just his personality, I think."

"Because _that's_ an excuse to be a complete arse." Harry drawled back, rolling his eyes as Ron nodded eagerly in agreement. "You wouldn't be friends with me if _I_ was like that."

"The point is that he is trying. Its hard for him, but he's really working in being nicer."

"Yeah, because Malfoy's are totally known for their kindness." Ron sneered, and hissed, his ears turning crimson, "what about all the times he's called 'Mione a mud-a 'you-know-what'?"

his voice had gone down to a whisper, and he looked nervously at his girlfriend, who Harry had just realized had been remarkably quiet about the entire conversation. The knut dropped, and Ron's face went from red to pale and back again by the time she coughed into her hand and admitted slowly, grudgingly, "He, uh, he actually doesn't say that anymore. And he-well-he apologized for it with Blaize."

"why didn't you say anything before?!" Ron cried, and Harry ignored the smug grin on Nevilles face as he rocked back on his heels to take in their expressions.

Hermione winced at the accusation in his tone and said, "I wasn't sure he meant t, and you're so bent on hating him that I didn't think it would matter. Besides, it was private, and I didn't feel like sharing it yet."

"could have let your best mate know." Harry said stubbornly, and Ron nodded his agreement rapidly.

"When did he do it, then?" Ron snapped, his freckles nearly washed away by the darkness that had stained his cheeks. Hermione was looking at the stone floor when she mumbled out her response, and Harry had to strain to hear her.

"You've been doing _WHAT_ with that ferret?!" Ron half-screamed, taking as step back in shock as he stared at her through wide and mistrusting eyes.

"Studying, that's all." Hermione sighed. "Neville's been coming too, and so has Luna. It's just the four of us right now, but Ginny is thinking about joining us, and I'm sure we can find a table big enough for the two of you to fit with us as well if you decided to. Haven't you noticed that none of us have been in the dorms lately?"

"Hey, Devil's Snare, what are you doing with the Gryffindorks?" Malfoys voice permeated the hallway, and Neville's head lifted like a cork off a wine bottle to answer the call, meeting grey eyes from across the hall. "We have an appointment, in case you've forgotten!"

"He call's me that sometimes; got nicknames for all of us since Hermione wouldn't stop calling him 'ferret-face' for a week." Neville said as he backed away from the group towards the Slytherin, a guilty flush to his face, "I'll see you back in the dorms later, yeah? We can talk more about it then, but I've got a flying lesson to get to."

It turned out Neville and Hermione were telling he truth about the study group, as much as Harry hated it. He had overheard Luna talking to Ginny in that dreamy voice of hers in the halls as he neared the common room, "-It's a good chart to memorize spell motions for exams. Draco leant it to me, but I'm sure he won't mind if I share it with you. It's very helpful of him, you know?"

Harry merely grit his teeth and powered past them, ignoring when Luna caught sight of him and raised a creamy arm to wave hello. He tried to see what they did; he really tried, but he couldn't pick out any of the Slytherins good qualities from the tangle of rotten ones. It didn't help that he always had Pansy in their room, whining and pacing with her pug-like face twisted up unattractively. She didn't even knock anymore, and Harry was constantly worried that she would burst into the room when he was half-dressed. It had happened once to Neville as he was changing into a pajama shirt, and he had shrieked and thrown his arms up to cover his chest, to which she sneered and told him, "Relax, I've seen far better breasts than yours, Longbottom."

Neville had nervously lowered his arms to tug his shirt over his head, and Harry knew it was intentional that she looked coyly over her shoulder at him from where she sat on Draco's bed, and said, "You've got quite the body, though. No need to cover up quite so quickly."

Neville's face hadn't returned to it's normal shade for nearly two hours, and she sent him so many suggestive winks and glances that he had eventually launched off of his bed and ran out of the room like his heels were on fire. She had laughed for ten minutes at that, and Harry wanted nothing more than to hex her and send her out of their room. Instead he ground his teeth and tried to focus on his chess match with Ron, watching a black knight crumple under the fist of the heavy white queen as Pansy complained about a uniform that she hadn't gotten back from the wash, and how some petty younger year had probably stolen it. Harry nearly chucked a rook at her to shut her up.

Pansy wasn't there now though, and he sank grumpily onto his bed, noticing belatedly that Blaise was stretched out across Malfoy's bed, thumbing through a small red photo album and looking longingly at an image that Harry couldn't see. He was ready to ignore it and fold over his thoughts, but a bolt of something yellow caught his eye, and he spotted the soft gold fabric of a Hufflepuff scarf peeking out of Malfoys trunk, the house emblem staring at him from the crack of the open top. A pit in his stomach flared defensively, and before he could stop himself he was on his feet, wand in his fist, as he demanded roughly, "Who's scarf is that?"

"Potter, I'm not sure what you're talking about." Zabini drawled, and closed the photo book with a look of boredom, lazily sitting up to tuck it into the drawer of Malfoy's bedside table. He was studiously avoiding the mustard tangle of fabric at the end of the bed, but Harry was certain he knew about it.

"Stealing from Hufflepuffs, now, are you? I should have known better than to try and listen to whatever praise Neville has of you snakes." Harry hissed, and made to cross the room and snatch the scarf up, but Blaize was on his feet, and had his wand out before Harry could make it a foot from his bed.

"There are rules, Potter." He growled dangerously, "This side is ours, and that one is yours."

"It's not his scarf." Harry said, and even to him it sounded stupid and petty, whether it was true or not.

"Whether it is or isn't is none of your business." Zabini answered levelly, his stance never wavering. Harry saw the challenge for what it was and stepped forward deliberately, his toe skimming the line that Hermione had graciously spelled across the center of the room for them, even if she had rolled her yes and muttered to herself about immature boys when she'd done it on that second day back at Hogwarts. His nostrils flared in response to Harrys movement, and he said smoothly, his voice low and smooth like honey, "Stay on your side. I'm not afraid to break you, golden boy."

Harry squared his chest, and set his jaw firmly, feeling the heat of a fight warm his veins pleasantly as he taunted, taking a firm step over the line, and into the Slytherins territory, "See, I think you are. Hand it over, Zabini."

Green eyes seemed to waver in their assuredness, and Blaize said slowly, as if falling back into himself, "It's not what you think, Potter. Leave it alone."

"It's not Malfoy's to keep-unless he fancies himself to be a Hufflepuff now? Secretly, we've always sort of thought he was one; he's too pathetic to be a real Slytherin, after all."

Harry wasn't sure where that had come from, and he was unsurprised when Zabni's face hardened once more and he snarled, "He's tougher than you are. You have no idea what he went through when he lied for you at the manor. I know your precious Dumbledore preferred to give you a firm slap on the hand when you inevitably messed up, as Potters are known to do, but I can promise you that Voldemort was far less forgiving when it came to mistakes-and believe me, saving you was a mistake if this is how he's paid for it."

"What would you know about the war?" Harry hissed, "You ran and hid behind your mothers skirts before it even started! Who did you lose in the final battle?!"

"That's not what we are talking about! We are talking about the damn scarf, and how you owe it to him to leave it the bloody hell alone!"

"I don't owe him a damn thing!" Harry shouted back, and lunged forward, magic forgotten, to shove Zabini backwards back onto the bed. He spat hurriedly, before he could get up, "Incarcerous!" and the bed sheets unfolded themselves to twist around his wrists and over his flailing legs, locking him down in place. Harry grabbed the scarf, and pulled it from the trunk with a yank, the lid popping closed as he fisted the cotton scarf above his head in victory.

Zabinis face had gone sharp with fury, and he shouted in desperation, "Potter! Put it back! It was Diggory's, alright?! Put it back before he see's you with it!"

"Diggory's?!" Harry shouted, his heart collapsing open like a black hole, ready to suck in all the sadness and the darkness from the death all over again. "Cedric Diggory's?!"

"Potter!" Zabini shrieked, but Harry didn't hear what the Slytherin had, and found himself standing frozen as McGonagall opened the door to their dorms, her face draining of color at the scene in front of her. Malfoy and Neville were with her, and Ron was wedged behind them in the staircase, his face and hair shiny and wet with sweat.

Her eyes landed on the scarf, and it seemed that Malfoy's had too, and the grin that had decorated his face was erased completely away at the sight of the scarf waving like a pendant above Harrys head. McGonagall swallowed, sent a nervous glance towards Malfoy, and said slowly, her voice cracking marginally, "Mister Potter, can you explain what exactly you think you're doing with Mister Malfoys things?"

"Malfoy's-but this is a Hufflepuff scarf, Professor!"

"Yes, and as of his fourth year, it has belonged to Mister Malfoy, as I'm sure he and Zabini can attest." She said impatiently, but the haunted, ghostly look on her face hadn't faded.

"Can I go, please, Professor?" Malfoy asked meekly, his voice remarkably low and brittle, like it was ready to crack. Harrys hand lowered a little in suspicion, and Zabini, who had wrestled out of his constraints, snatched the scarf from Harrys hand and slammed it back into the trunk with a lingering crack as the ld crashed back down.

"Yes, Draco, you can go. Longbottom, perhaps you should escort him to the infirmary?"

"Yes, ma'am." Neville said quickly, and hurried after Draco, who had spun on his heel and retreated down the steps and out of view.

There was silence for a moment that hung in the air outside of Zabinis furious breathing, and Ron was gaping at Harry from beside McGonagall, who was starting to look increasingly angry. She sucked in a deep breath through her nostril before she said in her tight, strict voice, "I came to tell you that I have agreed to allow eighth years a quidditch team, if you lot can drum up enough recruits. Malfoy has agreed to co-captain with you. He has forfeited the seeker position in order to try out as a chaser. I assume you will take on the role, then, seeing as you have such a talent at finding things that are meant to be hidden. Good day, boys. If you need me, I'll be in the hospital wing, talking to a Slytherin."

Nobody said anything as she swept down the stairs, and Ron edged into the room. Zabini was glaring holes in the back of Harrys head, he was certain, but he couldn't feel anything but confusion, asking in exasperation, "All this over a Hufflepuff scarf that isn't even his?!"

"Harry," Ron started in slowly, looking nervous and uncomfortable as he cast a look at Zabini, who refused to say a word, "You know Malfoy and Cedric were together, right?"

"Of course he knows; everybody knew, it was all over the papers, for Merlins sake!" Zabini exploded, "Potter had no right getting into Draco's things like that!"

"I didn't go through anything, it was hanging out in the open! And you went through his stuff too, I might add!"

" _I_ am his best friend; I have permission to do that. You, on the other hand, don't." Zabini spat accusingly, then added spitefully, "There's also that minor little detail where I didn't parade through the room waving literally the only thing he has left of his dead boyfriend like a bloody flag. What a way to be reminded of the person you fell in love with."

"But Malfoy didn't ever-"

"The article came out that summer, Harry." Ron spoke up, color finally beginning to seep back into his face as Zabini scoffed and blew past them, slamming the door shut as he stormed out of the room. "I thought you knew, honestly. We just didn't talk about it because you didn't like the reminder of Cedric, and it seemed really unfair to shove the death in Malfoys face like that, since Ced was our friend, too, and they were an item, after all."

"But Cho-"

"Malfoy didn't want anybody knowing, and she'd always sort of fancied Cedric anyways, so she said she'd pretend to date him. She really did like him, though, maybe as much as Malfoy. The scarf was from the last tournament; Ginny saw him put it around Malfoy's neck and kiss him before he went to the front of the maze. He hasn't dated anyone since, apparently." Ron explained, his eyes never once meeting Harrys. Harry was glad for it, as his stomach felt weighted with guilt like lead, the change in Malfoy's face replaying itself over and over as he saw the exact moment Malfoy saw the scarf in his mind. Harry was sure he was the worst person on the planet, and it was only made worse when Ron told him, awkward and stumbling, "He, uh, he's teaching Neville to fly better. We set up a game of capture the snitch to train him, and it was his idea to propose an all eighth year team to McGonagall since she doesn't want us on the house teams. He wasn't so bad, actually. We're going to try to get Hermione on a broom by next week. I mean, she flew on a dragon with us, this should be a piece of cake."

Ron wasn't making Harry feel any better, and by the time night tucked itself around the castle, and Malfoy and Neville and Zabini were all back in the dorm, Harry didn't know how to apologize, and the room was still and quiet with the events of the evening hanging between the three of them. Harry tried to catch Malfoys eye, but the blond refused to look up from the floor, and he had such depressed air about him that he didn't even answer when Ron cleared his throat and asked as he walked into the room, "You alright, Malfoy?"

Nobody said anything, but it was clear that the blond had been crying, his eyes still damp and red-rimmed. Neville kept an arm around his shoulder and sat beside him on the bed in silence, letting Malfoy's head rest against his side. Nobody pointed out that Neville wasn't technically supposed to be allowed on the Slytherins side of the room, and Harry doubted he would lighten the tension by pointing it out even jokingly, so he said nothing, ignoring the way Ron was staring at him, trying to prompt him to explain what had happened; how he hadn't been waving the badger emblem and the scarf around to hurt the blond, but his excuses sounded stupid and petty, and Harry wished he hadn't cared so much about the stupid scarf in the first place.

Neville slipped back into bed when Malfoy fell asleep, and Harry laid in the silence for a long time, unable to coax his eyelids closed as his roommates slept uneasily around him. Malfoy had a nightmare, which didn't surprise him after the days events, and when the blond woke up with a scream, tears streaming down his pointed face, and his hair sticking up everywhere, he desperately wanted to go to his side and comfort him; explain what had happened make sure Malfoy knew he meant it when he said he was sorry. He didn't move though, and nobody stirred against the noise except for Ron, who woke up groggily and reached around for his wand, mistaking the shout to have come from Harry.

But the light from his wand fell on Malfoys crumpled face instead, and the blond sniffled pathetically, mumbling apologies and burying his face against his knees, sobbing to himself as Ron quickly climbed out of bed, and stuffed his feet into a pair of slippers, shushing the blond hurriedly as he made he way across the room. He paused at the little white line dividing the halves and whispered uncertainly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, "Malfoy, I can come over there, right? You won't hex me or bite my head off if I cross the line?"

Harry tried his best not to move, simply watching the exchange in fascination and curiosity, and was relieved to see Malfoy chuckle slightly through his tears at Ron's nervousness. Ron took that as permission to cross, and in a few short paces he was leaning over Malfoy's bed with his arms wrapped awkwardly around the Slytherins angular and folded body. He cleared his throat and said, with clear reluctance, "If its about Cedric, I can sit up with you. Or, you know, if you're feeling a bit scared you can kip in my bed, and we can each take a side. I'll wake you up before the others, so nobody else will know, if that's the sort of thing that helps."

Malfoy sniffled, but he seemed to be laughing a little too, probably at the ridiculousness of Ron's suggestion, then said with a slightly more relaxed sigh, "No, I don't want Weasel germs. I'll sneak into Blaize's bed; he won't mind."

"Here, take my arm, you're shaking." Ron said, ignoring the half-hearted dig, and helped Malfoy out of his bed and across the few steps to Zabini's bed. Malfoy sat at the edge, and Harry was sure he was blushing, but Ron simply said, "Harry didn't know...about you and Cedric. He wouldn't have gone near it if he did."

"Oh." Malfoy said simply, but he didn't sound very surprised, and Harry wasn't sure if that meant he was forgiven or not.

"And for the record, Neville was right; you're an okay guy, even if you are a prick-and you _ARE_ a _prick_ , Malfoy-and a ferret, too-and I think we can probably learn to get along if we try. You and Harry, too." Ron said, and gave Malfoy one more swift, awkward hug before retreating back to his own bed. Malfoy looked amused and horrified in equal measure, and shock colored his features in the dark, but at least he had stopped crying, and had tucked himself beneath Zabini's comforter, muttering at him to scoot over and then relaxing as a dark arm slid over his chest and Zabini sleepily aligned their bodies, snoring into Draco's hair.

"I still hate you, Weaselbee." Malfoy sighed as he drifted off.

"Ditto, Ferret." Ron murmured back, before nothing but the sound of snores filled the cold room.

Harry stared determinedly at the ceiling, and decided then that if Malfoy and Ron could become allies within a few hours, and reach some sort of understanding, then he could just as easily give up the past and forge a bond with Malfoy too. It would be easy.


	5. Chapter 5

pondering 5

It was not as easy to apologize as Harry would have liked. He had gotten out of bed the next morning with the intention of telling Malfoy he was sorry, but as soon as he locked eyes with the blond he felt a creeping sense of shame curling in his stomach, and the words went tacky, sticking in the back of his throat like honey. It didn't help that Malfoy was studiously avoiding him, either, or that McGonagall stared at Harry with disapproval for three days following the incident, clearly disappointed in his actions. He rehearsed all of the possible ways he could show Malfoy how sorry he was in his head a hundred times, but every time he was faced with the opportunity, he found himself shrinking away from it, like a beetle into the dark.

Harry knew he had to say something soon, if the looks Hermione sometimes sent him meant anything. Malfoy was getting closer with her, after all-he was getting closer with all of Harrys friends, really-and it seemed that the story of what Harry had done was spreading around like wildfire. A Hufflepuff even glared at him in the hallway that first morning, and had coughed an insult into his hand when Harry passed around him.

By day five of avoiding Malfoy-because even he had to admit that he was as guilty as avoiding the topic as the blond was-he was determined to stop him and clear the air. Malfoy wasn't sulking around like a wounded crup anymore, either, and Harry was confident that the wound had been given enough time to heal, and that bringing it up again wouldn't be like rubbing salt into it. He repeated his apology to himself like a mantra all through the corridors, and was just about to begin his twentieth mental repetition when he came face to face with the Slytherin he had been looking for, both of them stopping short in front of the door to the potions classroom, muscles tensing. The grey in Malfoy's eyes seemed to harden, if only slightly, and Harry suddenly wondered if it was a good idea to even bother saying anything at all.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry swallowed, and blurted stupidly, his face feeling remarkably hot, "Sorry about the other day. I didn't know."

"Oh." Malfoy said, shock just beginning to color his voice as his face relaxed and his eyes softened. "R-Weasley said you probably didn't. It's...uh...I think it's okay."

"You _think_ it's okay?" Harry asked in confusion, his heart beating fervently in his chest as he tried to inconspicuously wipe his sweaty palms on his robe. Malfoy clearly noticed, but he didn't say anything.

"Yes. I think it's okay." Malfoy confirmed slowly, as if struggling to find the right words, "I mean, I forgive you, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, I'm still mad at you, but not as mad as I should be, I think. I guess I just mean that I can't blame you; you're a dunderhead, it's in your nature to do stupid and insensitive things without realizing it."

Harry ignored the soft flare of anger in his chest, reminding himself that ' _he's mad, he's allowed to say that. It's probably a little true.'_ He instead offered up a shrug, and cleared his throat to ask quickly, sheepishly, "You'll tell McGonagall I apologized, then, right?"

"I'll see what I can do." Malfoy said, with a short pause of consideration, before he pushed open the potion classrooms door and disappeared inside, Slughorns voice booming a greeting from inside the class as Harry followed reluctantly, already dreading his session with Smith. He was sure he wouldn't even be able to focus, his thoughts were so caught up in his conversation with Malfoy. At least he had apologized, he figured, and now they could go back to hating eachother.

Zacharias Smith was worse than usual, that potions lesson. He sniped through the entire lesson in Harry's ear, and had managed to 'accidentally'-according to him, at least-squeeze a bobotuber so hard that the puss burst out one end and splattered Harrys neck and ear. He had clenched his fists so hard they shook, and he very nearly punched his partner when he heard Malfoy laugh from across the room. If Slughorn hadn't caught the exchange and hurried over, he was sure he would have taken a page out of the Slytherin's book to swing right at Smith's fat nose. Instead, he was sullenly mopping the jelly-like substance off of his neck, while Hermione glared at Smith from behind them, her face red in anger.

Their cauldron didn't _quite_ explode that lesson, thanks to Hermione's keen sense of observation, and Ron's quick stasis charm. It did manage to bubble over, and was hissing like a cat that been threatened, but Harry still counted it as a win, since he didn't end the class on his knees, laboring over a mess on the floor.

"Are you actually smiling about this, Potter?" smith sneered, and gestured to the sponges that Slughorn had dropped at their desk, his mustache twitching in disgust at the purple foam that had made its way over the lip of the cauldron.

"It didn't explode this time." Harry told him with a shrug, although he could already feel his mood beginning to deflate, as he sensed Zacharias would have more to say than just that.

"You _would_ count that as a success, wouldn't you, Potter?" Smith sneered, and Harry saw Pansy Parkinson lean over to whisper into Blaize's ear with a snigger, a crooked finger angled towards the mess on his and Smith's desk. He wrinkled his nose and added with a huff, "At least we did better than Malfoy and Longbottom, the idiot."

"He's not an idiot." Hermione spoke up, pausing midway through packing up her bag to leave. Harry was too busy looking towards the back of the room, where Malfoy and Neville were busy airing a long plume of smoke away from the top of their cauldron, coughing quietly into their hands. Harry wondered what had happened, and nearly called across the room to ask, when Hermione cut across his thoughts to say sharply, "He's doing better in this class than you are, after all."

Smith's face went dark red, and he bared his teeth, snarling, "I don't need some mudblood worrying about my grades, Granger, so kindly shove out, before I get Malfoy to finish the job his deranged aunt started."

Harry ripped his gaze away from Malfoy and Neville, and he was startled by how red his vision had become as his eyes locked on Smith's. He heard Ron snarl something, and was sure he could see two wands being whipped out in his peripheral, but was more concerned with the one he found in his own hand. He couldn't remember reaching for it.

"After all," Smith said loudly, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking back on his heels to smirk, "I've seen that ugly scar of yours; it's particularly repulsive, isn't it? It's almost as bad as Malfoy's dark mark, only he has the decency not to roll his sleeves up during class; he's got respect for everyone's appetites, you see."

"Hey!" Neville shouted, and his voice sounded underwater to Harry, who had cast a spell so fast he didn't even know what it was he had said.

"Wicked shot, Harry!" Ron shouted, and cast a stinging jinx of his own, as Harry's vision cleared. For a moment, all he saw was blood, and images of the Sectumsempra incident flooded his mind. He felt nauseous and dizzy, and gripped the ledge of the desk for support before forcing himself to think straight. Malfoy was looking pale and sick across the room, and it only worried Harry even more, but he looked down at Smith again, and found that he was only bleeding from a slight head wound, where he had hit his head against Pansy and Blaize's desk when he fell. It seemed every cauldron in the room had been knocked over by the fight, but nobody seemed hurt aside from Zacharias, and relief filled Harry down to his bones. He felt Hermione at his side, steadying him and trying to ask if he was alright.

"Fine," Harry told her hoarsely, "Fine, just dizzy. What about you? Are you okay?"

"I'm alright, Harry, really. It's you that looks like you've seen a ghost." Hermione said, incredulous. "You didn't have to hex him, I could have handled it on my own, honestly."

"Yeah, but we wanted the satisfaction." Ron said determinedly as he joined them. "Smug git had it coming."

"That may be, Mister Weasley, but we do not attack one another in the classroom!" Slughorn burst out, and Harry just seemed to realize that he was still there, gaping and stuck still with shock until that moment. "All of you will report directly to the headmasters office!"

"Professor, can't it wait?" Smith asked with a groan as he sat up, gingerly touching the gash on the side of his head, "I'm bleeding, sir, shouldn't I see Madame Pomfrey?"

"You'll live, I'm sure, Smith." Slughorn said with a huff, a startled look in his beady eyes, "Just take care not to get blood on her new carpet."

Harry was surprised at how much severity lacked in McGonagalls speech when they went to her office. They had all sat nervously in front of her desk, fidgeting and uncomfortable as she assigned them all a weeks worth of detention. Harry thought they would have more, but she had assured him, "You'll be back in here before we know it, Mr. Potter, and I, personally, don't think that your team mates would care to have quidditch tryouts postponed due to their captains poor lapse in judgement. You're adults now, all of you, and should learn from your actions far more quickly than you did in your youth."

"But proffessor, Potter and Weasley good and well attacked me!" Smith had cried in outrage, a damp towel pressed to his head in order to soak up the blood, which had stopped flowing on the walk to her office.

"According to Miss Granger, it was provoked. You did use a racial slur, I was told." Mcgonagall answered, and stared over the rims of her spectacles challengingly. Smith sank in his seat and was quiet. Neville shifted in his seat, and she turned her attention to him slowly, sighing as she asked, "Yes, Mr. Longbottom? Do you have something to contribute?"

"Err," Neville said as he fidgeted, "I was just wondering if Malfoy and Hermione had to be in detention too? They didn't throw any hexes, it was just us."

"As I've said, Mister Longbottom, all six of you will be in detention this week. You will be working together to brew this weeks potion again, seeing as how you destroyed all of your own samples. You'll also be paired off differently than you have been in class, to see if that lessens your constant bickering."

"We're switching partners?" Malfoy asked, sitting up straight and looking alarmed, "Again?"

"Yes, Mister Malfoy, as I believe it's best if you can all learn to work in harmony, and grow to form an understanding of one another. Potter will be your new potions partner, I think. Longbottom, you can pair with Weasley. Smith, you'll be working with Miss Granger-maybe she can do something about your uncanny ability to explode your cauldron?"

"Yes Ma'am." He ground out, and McGonagall waved them away with a half-smirk.

Her only parting words were to say as they descended the stairs from her office, "Miss Granger, and Mister Malfoy, I want you to understand that this is not a punishment for the two of you, but rather an opportunity to recover the grade you may have lost this afternoon."


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors note:** This technically could have been a part of the last chapter, but it looked better being formatted as a seperate one. I'm trying to update more often too, and working on rounding out the characters, so any suggestions or critiques would be nice if you have any. Thank you so much for reading, and possibly enjoying (Which I hope you are, because I'm having a lot of fun writing it!) and if anybody has any ideas or requests I would be glad to whip something up for you!

With Love- PonderingPotter

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Harry figured that their detention wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. Smith still snarked at them, and Ron had come close to hexing him again in the first five minutes of being in the room with him, but besides that, they were able to ignore each other well enough to get most of their work done. Malfoy wasn't happy with being Harry's partner, of course, and Harry wasn't particularly pleased to have him there either, but anything was a step up from Smith. The one good thing that came out of their detention was that McGonagall had assigned Hagrid to supervise them, saying with the slightest hint of a smile, "You've already traumatized Professor Slughorn, and I like to think that Hagrid is used to your shenanigans by now."

Smith looked disgusted at the idea of having him for a teacher, and Harry and Hermione exchanged smirks when Fang laid down beneath the desk, and rested his large head down on top of Smith's shoes, drool pooling against the Italian leather. Hagrid stopped at Harrys desk to grin, his eyes shining with mirth, "How's Buckbeak, then, Harry?"

Malfoy stiffened, and Harry hid a laugh by pretending to cough into his hand, before he informed the half-giant gleefully, "Lodging at the Weasley's, currently. Charlie is in town, and he thinks he can find a space for him up in Romania."

"Beaky 'll like tha'." Hagrid said with a wide grin, "Bein' with more o' his kind 'll do 'em well."

Hermione sniggered at the shiver of revulsion that Malfoy gave, and Harry twisted around to catch Ron's eye when he snorted, Neville shaking his head in amusement as Malfoy muttered under his breath about how it wasn't nearly as funny as they all thought, but he was glad that they could find amusement with his near loss of an arm. That only made Harry laugh harder, as he sorted the potions ingredients, splitting them evenly between himself and Malfoy.

"That would have been just _tragic_." Smith said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he hissed, "If you'd lost your arm, how would Voldemort have branded you?"

"Don't go sayin' thin's like tha', Smith." Hagrid admonished, stepping back in surprise. "We all did thin's in the war tha' we regret."

Smith didn't reply to that besides to snort, and Hagrid rested a paw-like hand on Malfoys shoulder in some awkward imitation of comforting him. He snorted, and shrugged it off as he went to dicing up a slug. Hagrid looked hurt, but moved on down the row of desks to comment on Neville and Ron's concoction, frowning as he said, "Should'n tha' be blue?"

"Throw in a pinch more wormwood, and it will set the color right." Malfoy suggested, without looking up from his slicing, and Smith made a face at the back of his head. "Maybe give it a few more clockwise stirs."

"Yer good at potions, ain't you, Malfoy?" Hagrid asked, turning back around to look at him with a wide smile, clearly impressed.

"Better than Potter, at least, but that isn't saying much." Malfoy smirked, and Hagrid didn't know quite what to say to that, because he supposed it was true.

Brewing with Malfoy was surprisingly easy, Harry found, even if it was annoying that the Slytherin tried to correct everything he did in a perpetually snotty and derisive tone that grated on Harrys nerves. He must have let his annoyance seep into his face, because Hagrid frowned at him midway through the lesson, and said in concern, "You alrigh' Harry?"

Harry shook himself, and said with a forced smile, "Fine, Hagrid. Smell of the slugs is getting to me, is all."

"Well, tha's what you ge' fer fightin' in class, innit?" Hagrid answered, with an apologetic smile. Fang groaned, and shifted on Smith's foot, causing the Hufflepuff to grimace and grip his knife tighter. The smell actually was starting to put Harry off, and even Zacharias's discomfort didn't lift his spirits any.

"Our fire is going out, Potter." Malfoy said casually, interrupting Harrys messy cutting motions. Harry nearly fixed it, but looked over to find Malfoy lounging beside him, examining his nails boredly.

"I'm busy." Harry said stiffly, "You do it."

"Potter..." Malfoy said with a growl, as if talking to someone incredibly slow, "Bloody fix the fire, would you?"

"Like I said, Malfoy," Harry ground out, feeling his face heat in anger, "I'm _busy_. _You_ do it."

"I can't, Potter."

"I gave you your wand back, I know you can." Harry shot back, "This is just like third year, wanting everyone to do things for you. My hands are full right now, get off your high hippogriff and do it yourself. I'm _not_ your house elf."

" _Harry."_ Hermione hissed meaningfully behind them, as Malfoy flushed crimson.

"What?" Harry snapped back waspishly. He hadn't meant for it to be so rude, but a distinct feeling of being betrayed had washed into his gut, and he was lost to why he should be playing into Malfoy's every request.

Hermione's eyes lit on Smith, who was leaning back and watching them with interest, a smirk growing on his face as his eyebrows rose. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably, and Hermione's face went pink, before she looked down at the table and coughed violently into her fist, something that sounded like 'liend liar', which made no sense at all to Harry. Ron stood behind her a table away, looking just as confused as Harry felt. If anything, Malfoy only looked redder.

Hermione huffed, and coughed into her hand again, louder this time, but Harry couldn't make heads or tails of what she was trying to convey, and said irritatedly, "What? If you've got something to say, hermione, spit it out."

She looked guiltily towards Malfoy, who refused to meet her eye, and opened her mouth to answer, only to be cut off by Smith, who told him gloatingly, "She said, _'Malfoy is afraid of fire.'_ Honestly, Potter, did old Voldy knock out some of your hearing when he hit you with that killing curse?"

Harry was certain he was the color of a lobster as he realized that she had been trying to say ' _fiendfyre_ ' subtly enough that Malfoy wouldn't have to do it himself. He could feel the embarrassment rolling off of him in waves, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to think of what he should say. He looked to Hagrid for help, but it appeared that he had wandered into Slughorns potions supply closet, most likely to see what sort of thing he could find in there. Smith raised his voice a little louder, pleased with the scene, and said in a way that almost seemed casual, "Who's afraid of _fire,_ of all things? Pretty pathetic, even for a Malfoy."

"If you must know," The Slytherin answered huffily, his eyes narrowing into silver slits, "Darling Potter rescued me from the fiendfyre in the room of requirement, not that it is any of your concern."

"Saint Potter did that?" Smith asked delightedly, then shrugged to say offhandedly, "I guess he _has_ made a bigger mistake than letting his godfather get killed, then. He should have just left you there, if we are all being so honest."

Harry was sure he would have hexed him if Hagrid hadn't come back in at that moment, his eyes wide and curious, to ask, "Ery'thin' alrigh' here?"

"Fine." Hermione said quickly, although she sounded like she wanted to cry, and Malfoy had a cold and unaffected look on his face, a painted mask of calm. Neville was gritting his teeth as he glared at Smith, and Ron looked grey with horror, no doubt catching the look of grief that Harry was trying to conceal at the mention of his godfather. He could hear Smith sniggering behind them, and he felt Fang's nose brush up against the back of his knee, leaving a wet spot on his pant leg.

Harry could feel his wand in his hand, and was already talking himself into believing that one more week of detention would be worth it if he could hex the smug little grin right off of Smith's ugly face. He had seen the small flicker of emotion in Malfoys face at being told he should have been left behind, and it warred with the anger he felt at seeing his godfather slipping behind the veil in his mind. he wanted to hex Smith so hard he wouldn't be able to see for a week, and he was just getting ready to when Malfoy grabbed his wrist, and whispered under his breath, "Don't. It's not worth getting into trouble over me."

Harry wasn't sure why it made him mad that Malfoy knew exactly what he was about to do and wanted to stop him, but for some reason it left him seething, and he ripped his arm out of Malfoys grip to hiss, "Don't think that because I saved you I will defend you. I was mad about my Godfather, not you. I don't care if he comes after you; he was right, I should have left you there."

"Ditto." Malfoy said, his face going hard again, the stung expression he had worn for a millisecond being completely erased. Harry mentally kicked himself, wondering what had possessed him to say that, especially knowing he hadn't meant it. He had wanted to lash out at Smith, not Malfoy, no matter how annoying it was to be his partner. But Malfoy continued valiantly, "You looked better with that stinging hex at the manor, by the way. I suppose I should have identified you then, if this is what it gets me now."

"Malfoy, I didn't-"

"Two can play this game, Potter." Malfoy snapped, "An eye for an eye, after all. Now light the bloody fire so we can finish this and leave."

"That's not what I meant. I was trying to say-"

"Leave it, Potter, I know what you meant." Malfoy snapped, and Harry fell into an awkward silence as he worked beside him, trying his best to ignore the fact that Hermione was shaking with rage behind them, wiping angry tears out of he eyes as she tried to will Harry to turn around and look at her.

Hagrid couldn't restore the atmosphere back to what it had been before, and it he quickly became so uncomfortable with the tension in the room that he released them five minutes early, and hurried out of the room, Fang meandering after him, oblivious to the mood of those surrounding him.

Harry met Ron, Neville, and Hermione at the door as Malfoy finished putting up the cauldron, but before they could make their way out, Hermione said quietly, "You all go ahead, I want to check on Malfoy."

Harry knew it was meant to be a subtle dig at his own stupidity, but he merely grit his teeth and turned around, leading the other Gryffindors from the room and into the hall. Ron asked in concern once they were several paces away, "What was that about?"

"Nothing." Harry said firmly, "I don't want to talk about it. It was just Malfoy being Malfoy."

The boys nodded cautiously, but Harry knew he was going to be on the receiving end of Hermione's glares until he found the blond and explained himself or apologized-again.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione had given Harry the cold shoulder for so long following his fight with Malfoy, that by the third day of detention they had come to a truce, deciding that if they couldn't speak civilly to one another, they shouldn't speak at all. Hagrid was oblivious to the tension, as always, it seemed, and it somehow made the sessions more bearable to Harry. Fang continued to drool against Smith's shoes, too, and that helped everyone feel at least a little more comfortable.

By the last day of detention Harry almost thought he would miss it, if only because he was actually doing the potions correctly for once. Slughorn was so impressed with their progress that he informed them in class the Monday after their last detention, "You'll be keeping your new partners, I think! Excellent work, all of you! Especially you, Mister Potter!"

Malfoy looked distinctly unhappy with the arrangement, but he stayed quiet about it, his displeasure only palpable through his sulking as he cast disappointed glances towards Ron and Neville's table at the back of the room. Harry thought it was a bit of an overkill that Blaize leaned across the aisle to pat Malfoys shoulder, telling him consolingly, "That's alright, I'm sure Potter isn't _that_ bad."

"Yes he is." Pansy had muttered, but Harry pretended not to hear her, determined not to lose his temper again at the blond or his friends.

"Granger has it worse, really." Zabini said, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully, "It was comical to watch Potter try to put up with him, but I'd say she is far more capable of shutting him up than he was."

"Even the Hufflepuffs don't want Smith around." Malfoy sighed, and traced his finger over a mark on the tabletop that looked like a lopsided heart.

"Can you blame them?" Parkinson snorted, and tossed her hair back to avoid getting it caught in the goo she was levitating with her wand over hers and Blaises's simmering cauldron.

"Who told you that, then, Malfoy?" Smith called from behind Harry, and he heard Hermione set down a pair of tweezers agitatedly in preparation to tell him off. "Was it your boyfriend, good old dead Ced?"

"Merlin, no." Malfoy snorted, "He would never talk about something as irrelevant as your existence! That would be a waste of air!"

Hermione sniggered to herself, and went back to her work as Smith blinked in surprise, and grudgingly followed her example, lost for how he should respond. Blaise looked particularly proud, and Harry didn't know if he wanted to roll his eyes or pat the blond on the back.

By the time they set off for lunch the potion was finished, and Slughorn had crowed over it's consistency, marking their improvement with glee, and remarking that the change in partners may just be permanent if these were the results it yielded. Harry would have preferred being partnered with Ron or Hermione, but he found that anyone was better than Smith-even Malfoy, no matter how much he kept snarking at him.

Malfoy had gotten somehow closer to Ron and Hermione too, which Harry didn't realize until the redhead asked in confusion before they left the room, "You coming to lunch, Malfoy?"

"No, I think I'll go and see McGonagall, actually. Pansy'll join you, though."

"Pansy-Pansy Parkinson?" Harry asked, his mouth going dry with surprise, even as the black-haired girl made her way towards them, and stopped beside Hermione, giving Harry an awkward smile.

"Honestly, Harry, you are less observant than a brick." Hermione sighed, and shook her head in disbelief. "She's part of our study group-which you would know, if you bothered to show up."

"Not that they study anymore." Ron said with a roll of his eyes, "'Mione already knows everything anyways, she's just there so she can gossip with Parkinson and Malfoy."

"What would they possibly have to gossip about?" Harry scoffed, and tried to think of something the three of them would have in common, only to come up blank.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, for starters." Ron grimaced, "Even after all that happened they keep giggling over him like a bunch of girls."

"We are a bunch of girls." Hermione said patiently, as they made their way down the hall.

"Malfoy isn't." Harry reminded them stubbornly, "Unless he's suddenly grown breasts, that is."

"You never know, mate. It is Malfoy, after all. Would any of us really be surprised if he had?" Ron said with a chuckle, and elbowed Harry lightly in the ribs as they entered the great hall, and slid into the seat at the Gryffindor table, each breaking off into their own conversations. For once this year, Harry had gotten Ron into a conversation about quidditch, and was able to remove his mind from the Slytherin completely as he brushed off Ron's adamant claim that the Chudley Cannons would finally make it to the world cup. Parkinson and Hermione were busy giggling to themselves, and Harry was struck by the contrast between the two of them, but didn't say anything, as Ginny had just come through the doors of the Great Hall, her hair waving behind her like a flag as she ran to the table and slid across from the group breathlessly, her face flushed.

"Did you hear?" She asked, once she was able to speak, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Did they find whoever has been stealing my extra uniform?" Parkinson asked, her own eyes wide and owlish.

"Don't be ridiculous, Pansy, that's long gone." Ginny snorted, then grinned to say, "McGonagall said we can have another Yule Ball!"

"You're joking!" Ron gaped, "Don't tell me we have to bloody learn to dance again!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Hermione huffed, "If that's the worst thing that comes of it, then it's a small price to pay, I'd say. Besides, maybe this time you will actually drum up the courage to ask me."

"Why don't _you_ ask _me_ , if it's so important we go together, then?" Ron shot back, his face going crimson. "You love that social justice stuff, after all. The guy doesn't always have to ask! Why can't the girl ask the guy for once, and you tell me how easy it is, then?"

"Honestly, Ronald!" Hermione snorted, and asked him with a half laugh, "Ronald Billius Weasley, will you please do me the honor of being my date to the Yule Ball?"

Harry found himself grinning at Ron's gobsmacked expression, and he and Ginny laughed outright when he answered huffily, "Well, I don't know, I'll have to pick an outfit and check my plans for that night. Besides, you used my middle name, and that's just atrocious form, Hermione, really. Then there is the small detail that you didn't bring me any flowers, and you just assumed I would say yes. Did you even stop to think that maybe I already had plans? Honestly, we never even spoke about it before now, and your proposal was just-"

"Are you telling me that I should try harder to impress you, then?" Hermione asked, a smirk twitching on her lips as she placed a hand on either hip.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to give a little more to your presentation is all I'm saying." Ron shrugged, and turned back to his chicken with a smile.

"Don't worry, 'Mione, I've got this." Harry said, smirking in delight as Ron's face went pale in horror. Harry placed his foot against the bench, and lifted himself to stand above the rest of the student body, murmers already dying out as the other houses took notice of the boy who lived standing up on the bench, clicking his fork against the edge of his glass.

"Harry, don't!" Ron hissed, completely mortified as he tugged at Harry's trouser leg.

"Excuse me, everyone, but I would like to make an announcement!"Harry said loudly, and the hall died down a fraction further, but not as much as Harry would have liked. He could see from this vantage point that Malfoy and Zabini had slipped into the room, and were talking animatedly at the Slytherin table, paying no heed to what he was doing.

Luckily, Ginny Weasley was on board with Harry's plan as well, and cupped her hands around her mouth to shout, "Oi! Your bloody savior has a few things to say!"

McGonagall snorted at the head table at her language, and Harry went crimson at being called a 'savior', but her shouting had done the trick, and every eye was now on him. Ron had buried his face in his arms on the table to moan in agony, of course, but every eye besides his was firmly locked, and Harry felt an embarrassed flush climbing up his neck as he realized belatedly what a stupid idea it was to do this. He had been so caught up in the excitement and the fun of the moment and he just hadn't...he hadn't really thought of what he would say when he had everyone's attention.

"I, uh..." He started awkwardly, swallowing hard and clearing his throat, "I think we should all listen to my friend Hermione; she's got something important to say."

With that, he stepped down from the bench and sank onto it with a furious blush on his face. Hermione looked strangely confident, if not a bit awkward, as she fidgeted, and said loudly, as Ron sat up to give her his attention, "I, uhm, I wanted to know if you, Ronald Bi-Ronald Weasley-would take me, Hermione Granger, as your date to the Yule Ball?"

"You go, Granger!" Zabini catcalled, doubled over with laughter as he added, "Sweep that pretty little thing right off of his feet!"

Ron made a crude gesture in his direction as giggles broke out across the hall, but a moment later he had swept Hermione into his arms and told her loudly, chuckling to himself, "Alright, since you begged me!"

It was only after the cheers and whispers didn't stop that Harry realized nobody else had heard about the Yule Ball, and he had inadvertently ignited a frenzy of gossip and conversation, which didn't seem close to dying out. Ginny was giving him a strange look, and Harry pointedly turned away, only for her to snort, "We're friends, Harry, I'm not about to corner you into a dance with me."

Harry nodded, feeling ridiculous, and almost didn't hear it when McGonagall swept past him, saying into his ear with a smug lilt in her voice, "Thanks for that, Mister Potter, you saved me the speech. I look forward to see what comes of the Quidditch tryouts tomorrow afternoon."

Harry didn't think he would go to the Yule ball. He didn't have a date, and he had never been good at dancing, so it seemed to him like a bad idea. It would be different without everybody there, too. He had already taken note of the empty seats in his classes where students had died in the war, or had neglected to come back. He thought it would only be more obvious that they were gone if he were to go to the dance and see all the spaces between people, where his friends should have been. Hermione thought he was being stupid for not wanting to go, even though he didn't tell her the real reason, merely stating, "I don't want to be a third wheel."

It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. Hermione only shook her head at him, and said sternly, "You know she is doing this to promote inner-house unity, don't you? She wants to distract us all from the war with something fun; something everybody can be included in. It's supposed to stop the bullying, or at least slow it down."

"What bullying? The only person who's still a jerk is Smith, and I'm pretty sure he's always been like that, not just because of the war." Ron snorted, and rolled his eyes as Ginny scoffed beside him. They were walking as a group down the hall, with Luna catching up to them as they made their way towards the courtyard to enjoy the sunshine.

"Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it isn't happening." Hermione snapped, "There are still prejudices."

"My stolen uniform, for example." Pansy said loudly, a bitter expression on her face. She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, and then added, "A Ravenclaw hexed Blaise just last week in the halls, if I recall."

"No, that was me." Ron said with a smirk, "He stole my chocolate frog card, and thought I wouldn't notice. You Slytherins aren't nearly as sneaky as you think you are."

Luna sighed dreamily, and asked lightly, her tone as airy as always, "Did you beat up Draco too?"

Harry missed a step, and Hermione's face went hard as she asked dangerously, "Somebody beat up Malfoy?"

"Oh, he was quite upset about it." Luna nodded wistfully, "He's been using a glamour to cover it up."

"Malfoy wouldn't let somebody put a hand on him," Ron said determinedly, grimacing at the idea, "He'd rip their teeth out if they tried. I would know; I've fought him enough times."

"I don't think he wants anyone to know." Luna sighed, her face a fraction less cheerful, but no less relaxed than it always was, "It was Zacharias Smith's friends that got to him, I think."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked in concern, anger seeping into his gut. He didn't like Malfoy, and it was universally acknowledged that he was a git, but he didn't like the idea of anybody putting a hand to him, especially if it was in a situation where he was outnumbered.

"I found him crying in the library, on a day we weren't supposed to meet up." Luna said, and grinned towards the ceiling to herself, "He doesn't want me to worry over him, but I think somebody should if it can't be me."

"We're not leaving him alone from now on." Neville spoke up angrily, and Harry wondered when he had joined them, startled by the voice in his ear. "Not until we know who hurt him, and put a stop to it."

"That's very Gryffindor of you, Longbottom," Pansy sneered derisively, "But we've already taken care of it. Blaise found them just two days ago, and set some Zonko's products off to scare them. Draco's fine; he doesn't need a protector."

"He does if he won't stand up for himself." Harry argued heatedly, and couldn't help wondering why he hadn't noticed before that Malfoy was being targeted. He had seemed fine.

"He can handle a couple of Hufflepuffs picking on him, Potter." Parkinson snorted, "I'm not sure if you know this, but you don't have to be a savior all the time."

"I'm not-"

"Draco!" Luna called, successfully cutting off Harry's response as she flagged down the blond at the opposite end of the hall. Harry looked him over to bee sure he hadn't had a run-in with any of the bullies, but Pansy was right; he appeared fine, and like he could handle himself perfectly. Maybe she was right after all.

The Slytherin quickly joined them, grinning a little, and told Luna kindly, "You've got jam in your hair, did you know?"

"Oh, thank you." She said dreamily, "We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" Malfoy smirked, and looked around the group mischievously, "Somebody planning to ask me to the dance, then?"

"Not likely." Ron snorted, and Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him before he turned to Hermione with a smile.

"I hope you know, Granger, that you don't have to settle with the likes of him, and if you ever want to take a real man out for a spin, I'm all yours."

"Malfoy!" Ron snorted, and shoved his shoulder playfully, all while wrapping an arm possessively around Hermione's waist, "She's my girlfriend, not yours! You'll have to find your own date to the dance!"

"Fine, fine." Malfoy laughed to himself, "How's the Weaslette doing, then?"

"Don't you dare." Ron warned, his ears turning bright red as his tone changed and he reached instinctively for his wand. "I may tolerate you, but there is no way I'll let you get a hand on my little sister."

"don't worry, Ronald." Luna said, as Ginny rolled her eyes, "I think Draco has somebody else in mind. Somebody...taller."

There was a knowing glint in her eyes that made Harry uneasy, and Pansy was sending less than subtle glances in his direction. Ginny muttered to herself with a giggle, "That hardly narrows it down; everyone is taller than Malfoy."

Harry hadn't realized it before, but Malfoy was indeed the shortest of the group. Ginny had surpassed him easily, and while he was nearly even with Hermione, she appeared just a hair taller, and Harry stood a full inch above him. Ginny made to demonstrate his height by running a hand over the top of his head in comparison, but he batted her away with a snort.

"So, whose the lucky guy, Draco?" Neville asked with a grin, startling Harry again.

"He'll find out soon." Malfoy said with a blush, and Harry was taken off guard by the sincerity in his tone; the way he sounded genuinely shy about it for once. It wasn't something he was used to, and his heart stuttered as Malfoys eyes flicked towards him and then away. "Shouldn't we be talking about Quidditch, anyways? Trials are tomorrow, if I'm not mistaken."

"We all know who is going to end up where; it's not exactly like we _need_ to host tryouts." Ron huffed, but Harry could still see the anxiety of it weighing in his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was particularly blinding when Quidditch trials rolled around, and Harry had to cup a hand over his eyes to see the fiend properly as he and Malfoy surveyed the eighth year students who had elected to come. There were more people than Harry expected, and the sight of Zacharias Smith trying to wrestle a broom away from Neville made his chest ache with protective anger.

"This ought to be eventful." Malfoy said cheerily, and Harry nearly rolled his eyes when he produced a shiny silver whistle from his pocket, and spun it on its chain around his finger casually. "I can't believe Longbottom is trying out. Never would have expected it of him."

"You would be surprised what Neville can do." Harry said defensively, automatically searching for a dig in the comment. The fact that he couldn't find one made his head spin a little, and he had to remind himself that Malfoy was friends with them, now. _Why was it so hard to accept that Malfoy was different now?_

"I doubt it," Malfoy answered with a raised eyebrow, "considering I'm the one who's been training him."

"Right." Harry nodded, then addressed the team loudly, "Alright, everybody ready? We're going to do some basic drills, i think, just to test your skill level on the pitch."

"Should we start with some flying exercises?" Malfoy asked, and Harry nodded, so he continued, "Alright, line up down at the end of the field, and when I blow the whistle, you will take off, and see how fast you can make it five laps around the pitch."

"Five laps, Malfoy, really?" Harry asked, when the contenders had gotten a substantial distance away, "It's just the tryouts, isn't that a bit much?"

"Maybe, but it will show us how they fly more effectively than the standard three laps. Besides, it's not like I'm asking them to run-although that would be hilarious, making Smith sprint till he passed out."

Harry couldn't necessarily disagree with that, and sighed, fixing his eyes on each person as Malfoy blew into his whistle, and they all took off. Neville, Parkinson, Ron, Smith, Zabini, two Hufflepuffs that Harry didn't know, and three nameless Ravenclaws that Harry didn't know were speeding around them, and Harry was taken aback at how well a Ravenclaw girl with red hair was doing. She finished second only to Zabini, because Smith had reached forward and tried to grab her broom to speed ahead of her, and she stopped to kick him before she made to catch up. Ron came in just after Smith, and the two Hufflepuffs landed just before Parkinson, who had also been set behind thanks to Smith's cheating. Neville was second to last, wedged between the remaining Ravenclaws, and Malfoy had a disappointed look on his face that must have matched Harrys. "Err,"He said, "Let's keep going, then."

By the end of the tryouts the team was set. Malfoy reluctantly agreed with Harry that Nevill wasn't a good enough player to join the team, but they set him up as a reserve player, and he didn't appear too heartbroken at the news, merely shrugging it off and panting, "Can't say I expected much more than that, to be honest."

The Hufflepuff girls and two of the Ravenclaws joined Neville as reserve players, and Harry quickly began assigning positions, announcing loudly, "Alright, so that's Henderson, Malfoy and Zabini as chasers, Ron as keeper, Parkinson and Smith as beaters, and I'm the seeker."

The Ravenclaw girl, Henderson, beamed and shook Harrys hand as soon as they began to leave the pitch, telling him excitedly, "I'm so glad to make the team, Harry, I've always wanted to play Quidditch!"

"You've never played before?" Harry asked, startled by her enthusiasm and the skill she had shown in her tryout.

"I've joined a few games for fun, but I've never really had time before now. Angelina Johnson trained with me some over the summer, so I probably owe a lot to her expertise, but other than that I've never played."

"Welcome to the team then, Taylor." Malfoy piped from beside Harry, who was internally grateful that Malfoy knew her first name, because Harry didn't have a clue until then.

Harry met Ginny outside the lockerrooms, the last to leave, and was startled to find that they were alone as they headed towards the castle, the silence thick and awkward. The dance was weighed on Harry's mind, and he wasn't sure if he should bring it up, beecause he didn't think that he would be able to keep from asking her, even if he didn't want to go with her. It just seemed like the natural thing, to him; going with Ginny and being miserable. She had said she didn't want to go with him, of course, but he couldn't tell if that had just been because Ron was sitting there, and it would have been awkward otherwise.

She threw her hair back, and said blankly, fishing for conversation, "So, Neville didn't make the team, then?"

"No, uh, the others played better. He's fine, though, I think. He's taking it well."

Ginny nodded, and they lapsed into silence again, as she fiddled with the zip of her jacket uncertainly, before saying awkwardly, "Harry, about the Yule Ball,"

"You don't have to go with me." Harry said suddenly, surprising himself, "I mean, you can if you want to, but you don't-"

"Actually, I was planning to go with Luna. I'm taking a break from dating, and making this year about myself. I think I need to find out who I am without a war hanging above my head. Plus, I was thinking of reaching out to Dean again; I wanted to meet up during Christmas break to have some closure on our breakup. I think he's seeing Seamus anyways, but I don't want any hard feelings. You understand, don't you?"

"Sure." Harry lied, feeling strangely like he was being left behind, which was ridiculous, because he didn't want to go with her anyways. He felt somehow like the world was moving without him. He blamed her, a little, in his head, even if he knew it wasn't her fault that he felt this way. He had expected that they would go together, tied down by expectations and memories of who they were before the final battle. He supposed he should have been expecting this, but he still couldn't erase all of the surprise from his face. He suddenly wondered who Neville was taking, if he wasn't taking Luna, and that seemed the safer route for his thoughts. He didn't want to analyze himself right then; there would be too much to sort through. Ginny seemed to understand, and they walked on in silence to the front of the castle, where Ginny hurriedly made her way to the great hall for dinner.

He ran into Hermione on the way back and asked her, a little distracted, "Who is Neville taking to the dance if he's not going with Luna?"

Hermione looked startled, having been reading a book, and said, "Harry, Luna is dating Rolf, don't you remember? Astoria Greengrass has been throwing hints at him, but he's oblivious. He's probably going to go stag, unless somebody asks him."

"Oh." Harry said, as he remembered a short Slytherin girl vaguely from a few years before that sometimes trailed Draco, and who had a sister who didn't come back this year. "What about Malfoy?"

"I think he has somebody in mind, but he won't tell me who. I have an idea, though. It's some boy in Gryffindor, I'm sure." Hermione shrugged, and seemed to be giving Harry a knowing look, as if she could tell his heart swelled at the idea of Malfoy asking him. It wasn't that he like Malfoy, per se, just that he was sometimes funny, and he was nicer than Harry remembered, and he was almost cute with his grey eyes and his blond hair, and the way he made Harry's heart beat so much more noticeably when he stood beside him. _What would he say if Malfoy asked him?_

"Right." Harry said, the look she was giving him causing him to squirm as a blush wormed it way up his cheeks, "Because he's gay. I forgot. I'm sure whoever it is will be glad to take him."

"Actually, Harry,-"

"I should go upstairs. Long day at tryouts, you know?" Harry said quickly, and darted towards the staircase, his legs feeling like jelly as he tried to imagine Malfoy asking him to the dance. He couldn't say yes, he was sure-he didn't even like Malfoy. Not really, at least.-and he went over scenarios in his head where he imagined how he could politely decline. _But what if Malfoy got mad? What if they became enemies again? What if he cursed him-or worse-what if he cried? He had already upset Malfoy once, and Hermione had hardly spoken to him as a result. What if all of Harry's friends turned against him, now that they were all so friendly with the Slytherins? Was that Malfoys plan? Make Harry look like a villain so his friends would turn on him?_

He knew in the back of his mind that he was being ridiculous, but he couldn't shut off the stream of thoughts once it had started, and he nearly walked right into the common room before Malfoy's voice cut across his internal panicking, and he paused, just outside the door, to hear what the Slytherin was saying. His heart immediately dropped into his stomach and he felt like he had been punched.

He could hear Malfoy struggling as he said very softly from inside the room, "It's just...you're okay for a Gryffindork, and I kind of like you, I guess, so I thought maybe we could...go...together. As a-as a couple...to the Yule Ball."

Harry hadn't ever heard him sound so small before, and his curiosity got the better of him as he twisted the handle of the door and cracked it open to see who the blond was speaking to. He was surprised he didn't gasp aloud, as Malfoy stood awkwardly in front of Neville, looking up at him anxiously as he shifted his feet embarrassedly.

"Oh." Neville finally said, after a moment of shocked silence, and Harry felt sick at noticing how nervous Malfoy looked, chewing his lip and glancing at the floor periodically as he waited for Neville to continue. He was holding Neville's hands, and it seemed like they had been talking for a while, but Neville continued slowly, panic in his face, "Malfoy-Draco-I'm so, so sorry, but I'm not...I'm not gay. I don't-I don't think I can take you to the dance. I'm sorry, I really am, and I love being friends with you, I really do-you're funny, and you're nice-kind of nice, is more accurate, actually. You do have your moments-and you've been really patient when you're teaching me about potions, but I don't want to lead you on. You're a great friend, Draco, and you'll find somebody great some day, but it's not me. I'm...I'm really sorry, and I don't want to hurt you, but I can't be your date to the dance."

"Oh." Malfoy said, and his disappointment was so clear that Harry couldn't decide which one of them he pitied more as Malfoy muttered, "I-okay. Forget I said anything, alright? I'll just-uh-I'll go with Ginny and Luna. Maybe I'll third wheel with the golden couple, Granger and Weasley, just to annoy them."

Harry could hear how upset he was, and his heart broke for the blond, but he still couldn't help feeling incredibly stupid for thinking Malfoy wanted to be _HIS_ date. he should have known. Malfoy was always with Neville. _Thats why he was upset about switching potions partners. He was looking at Neville in the hallway yesterday, not me. Thats why it was so hard for him to not let Neville on the team. He didn't want me, he wanted Neville._

Harry closed the door hurriedly, and practically ran down the stairs and out into the hall again, resolving that it was a one off thing, this attraction to Malfoy, and he wasn't interested in him like that anyways. He _certainly_ wasn't jealous of Neville, that was for sure. Harry was just trying to get into Malfoy's head and figure out what he was up to, that was all. It didn't matter if the excuse was pathetic; it distracted him from feeling hurt, because he wasn't. And he didn't scoff at him out of jealously and anger when he came back to the dorms an hour later and found Malfoy talking to Hermione with red eyes and a wobbly bottom lip on the couch. He also didn't feel bad that Malfoy heard him, and flinched as Hermione patted his knee consolingly and sent Harry a dark look.

When he got to the common room, determined to let Malfoy sulk with Hermione he was surprised to find that Zabini and Ron were crowded close to Neville on his bed, whispering in concern. Neville looked terrible, almost sick, and Ron was so pale that Harry was startled by the stark contrast of his freckles against his pallid cheeks. Harry was almost glad to see Neville looking so ill, and to keep his smile from bursting through, he asked slowly, "What's Zabini doing over here? This is our side."

"It's an emergency. Malfoy asked Neville out." Ron said hoarsely, looking traumatized.

"I meant to warn you." Zabini drawled to Neville, "But I thought I should let it play out on its own."

"You couldn't tell him I wasn't interested?" Neville asked weakly, exasperation in his voice.

"I didn't know if you were or not." Zabini rolled his eyes, "Besides, _I_ didn't want to be the one to break his heart. He has been going on about asking you for _days_ , but I didn't think he had the nerve to actually do it. Pansy tried to tell him not to, but he has a thick head, and only likes to listen to his own voice sometimes, which I'm sure we have all realized."

"You knew for _DAYS_ and you didn't say anything?" Ron gaped in horror, "Zabini, you arse! He's your friend!"

"He told you, too, if I recall." Blaize said slowly, while examining his nails.

"No he didn't!" Ron cried, when harry looked at him accusingly. Blaise clucked his tongue and shook his head, letting his hand fall back to the mattress.

"He told you in the library; I was there eavesdropping from a table over. He said, and I quote, ' _Longbottom has gotten really fit, wouldn't you say?'_ And you snorted at him and said, ' _focus on the quidditch schedule, Malfoy, you are supposed to organize tryouts_.' Then he asked you if he should ask Good old Nev to the dance, and you said, ' _yeah, go for it mate, but if we put this off any longer, McGonagall will change her mind about letting us have a team_.'"

"I thought he was being sarcastic!" Ron gasped, "I wouldn't have told him to do it if I had known he was serious!"

"Believe me, Weasley, when he's being sarcastic, you'll know about it, because you'll want to knock his teeth out. He wanted a male opinion on the entire thing, couldn't you tell? He's too nervous to ask _Granger_ about it, and he doesn't take _my_ advice anymore because I'm a slytherin, and it's never turned out to work in his favor."

"I can never tell when you people are joking! Merlin, you Slytherins are worse than Harry!" Ron moaned, his face buried in his hands.

"Hey!" Harry protested.

"I'm just saying, sometimes it's hard to tell." Ron huffed, sitting up, and Neville sat back with a groan.

"Why would he ask _me_?"

Harry was wondering the same thing, but he didn't say that.

"Because you're nice to him, I suspect, and you remind him of Cedric. Oh, don't worry yourself too much, that never would have worked out. They got along too well; Draco's just upset because he never got any closure with the whole thing, and Ced was a good boyfriend too him. I think they both knew it wouldn't last; there was no friction-there's got to be friction, after all, with a Slytherin, or it isn't true love. You're like his second chance, sort of. It would only last for a few weeks between you, then he'd be over it, or he'd annoy you into breaking it off."

"What should I do then? He seemed fine when he left, but he hides what he's feeling, and I don't want to hurt him." Neville said quietly, a helpless sort of expression on his face.

Zabini shrugged, and told him casually, "He'll cry it out with Pansy or Granger, and then he'll be over it. Don't worry too much about him, he's pretty resilient, and unless you die, and he's painfully reminded of his feelings when Potter inevitably waves around something of yours that you've given him like a flag, he should be perfectly alright."

"Shut up, that was an accident! How was I supposed to know what it was!?" Harry shouted suddenly, guilt and anger mixing together violently in his stomach.

" _Everybody_ knows, Potter. It is common knowledge, it's just that nobody got the chance to act on it because of the whole Voldemort business." Zabini said, witha wave of his hand.

Somebody cleared their throat from the opposite end of the room, and they all turned to see Malfoy standing in the doorway, a single eyebrow raised as he took them in. He said casually, glancing meaningfully at Harry, "I should probably thank you for that, Potter. Having Voldy around really distracted from the rumors that I dated Hufflepuffs golden boy."

There was a stunned silence for a moment, as Malfoy walked slowly across the room, and lay across his bed.

"Malfoy, I just wanted to say-" Neville started.

"Oh Merlin, the entire dorm knows, don't they?" Malfoy groaned, his face twisting up in embarrassment, "Merlin, I should have known there was something wrong when all of you decided to sit and gossip on Longbottom's bed like a bunch of girls. Don't you _dare_ try to convince me you're still straight now, Nev, because even _I_ am not tacky enough to start a _whispering circle_. Weasley, should I inform Granger that you and Zabini are now an item, what with how close you're sitting? It will break her heart, I'm sure, but she's still got Potter, hasn't she?"

"So...you're okay?" Neville asked cautiously, at the same time Ron said loudly, snorting, "Piss off, you wanker!"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and he admonished, "Not nice, Weasel. And yes, Nev, I'll be fine. I need you around to pass Herbology."

"That's the spirit!" Zabini cries as he crossed back to his side of the room, "If you can't get into his _pants_ , then get into his _plants_!" 

Neville threw his pillow at the cackling Slytherin, and he seemed to freeze right afterwards at Malfoys look to warn, "Don't say a _word_ ; it's not a pillow fight if he doesn't throw it back, and it's _not gay._ "

Malfoy laughed, and Harry wondered how hard it was for him to go through with the pretending, because he was sure he didn't imagine the flash of hurt in his eyes as they all settled down to sleep, and he kept picturing Malfoy pouring his heart out to a concerned Hermione on the couch downstairs. At least he seemed to have forgotten the rude noise Harry had made at him, but it didn't make him feel any better. He fell asleep thinking about Malfoy; wondering what he should do about what he now recognized as a crush. All he really knew was that he was completely screwed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **Authors Note:** I caved. Literally only one person has read chapter seven so far but I really wanted to post the next part so I guess I'm adding it.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry wasn't sure what he expected to feel when he woke up the next morning, but he was entirely certain he hadn't planned to wake up with a knot in his chest and his heartbeat stuttering in his throat. His dream had been startlingly pleasant, but as his eyes adjusted to the grey light of the morning he grew agitated and felt a bitter taste creeping into his mouth. He had dreamed about Malfoy, in some innocent, longing way, and the memory of the dream made him feel nauseous as he chanced a look across the room and spotted Malfoy snoring away in Zabini's bed, the comforter completely dragged to his side of the mattress. Harry had grown used to seeing them tangled together when he woke up, and despite the fact that he knew their closeness was only the product of a nightmare, (as it was the only thing that would drive Malfoy to climb into Zabini's bed) he still felt jealousy spark in his gut, and he felt himself wishing that Malfoy would come to _him_ when he woke up afraid, not Zabini.

Ron stirred beside him, snorting into his pillow, and Harry closed his eyes for a moment, the last images of the dream flickering again in his mind. Malfoy had been holding his hands, like he had been with Neville only the night before, and he had asked Harry to the Yule Ball with such a wide smile that all he could think to do was to agree. It had felt liberating to hear Malfoy ask him; to watch the curve of his lips trace the shape of his name-his first name; Harry, Harry, Harry, repeated like a heartbeat-and to see his grey eyes nearly light on fire with excitement. It had sent a bolt of electricity exploding up his spine, and he had woken feeling pleasantly disoriented.

He almost wondered if maybe he hadn't dreamed it at all; that it was perhaps real, but Ron shuddered awake, squinted across the room, and flopped back onto his blankets to sigh, "Hey Neville, it looks like Malfoy's forgotten all about you, mate."

"Shut up."Neville immediately groaned sleepily, and buried his head beneath his pillow to block out the light.

Malfoy shifted in his sleep, and stretched like a cat under Zabini's long arm, asking in his half-awake mumble, "Hmmm?"

Ron didn't answer immediately, and Zabini muttered grumpily, "Stop moving, not all of us like to get up at the arse crack of dawn."

Harry was almost surprised when he thought waspishly that _he_ would wake up whenever Malfoy wanted to, if that's what made him happy. He shook the thought away. _Malfoy wasn't his boyfriend, it was one stupid dream. It probably didn't mean anything._

Harry was the first get up for the day, unable to capture another second of sleep, and soon the others followed his example, grumbling about how awful it was to be awake so early. Malfoy changed with his back to Harry, and he would be lying if he said he didn't admire the curve of Malfoys spine as he pulled a shirt over his head. _Alright, so maybe he had more of a crush on Malfoy than he thought. Dammit._

Hermione and Ginny were waiting for them when the five of them trooped downstairs, and there was an easy silence between the group as they made their way to breakfast, the weight of the early hour setting heavy on their shoulders.

Luna waved at them when they made their way through the great hall, and Harry was pleased to see that she was sitting with the Ravenclaw on their team; Taylor Henderson. Harry ended up sat across from Zabini, Ginny, and Ron, and Neville sat beside him, while Malfoy and Hermione branched off further down the table to talk, presumably about Neville's rejection. The thought of it made Harry bristle immediately, and he imagined Malfoy pretending he was alright to spare Neville's feelings. How come he was the only one who had noticed? Hermione knew how he really felt, clearly, but the rest of the table seemed oblivious.

"Oliver Wood is coming to practice today." Ron said suddenly, catching Harry off guard and severing him from his thoughts.

"What?"

"Angelina Johnson, too." Ginny nodded, grinning excitedly, "They want to set up a practice game with our team; something about wanting to make sure we can all play together. I got a letter from Bill last night about it. He and Charlie may join too, but they don't suppose they can convince Percy to join."

Neville snorted into his goblet at the thought, and Harry gave a wry smile as he remembered that Charlie had made the decision to temporarily move home in order to look after the household following Fred's death. Harry found himself asking suddenly, following down that vein of thought, "Is George coming too?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably, and Ginny's lips thinned as he admitted uncomfortably, "He hasn't...uh...he doesn't fly anymore. I'm sure he'd love to watch, but you know how busy the joke shop gets."

Harry nodded sympathetically, and nobody acknowledged the fact that it was November and there was always a shortage of customers when the weather went chilly. Neville swallowed, looked awkwardly around the group, and asked, "You told them that Malfoy is on the team, didn't you?"

"Bill and Charlie have never met him, they can't be _too_ nasty." Ginny said with a stiff shrug, her eyes suddenly glued to the table as she rolled her sausage under her fork. Harry got the distinct impression that she wasn't being completely honest with her assessment of their character.

"Oh." Neville said, seeming to understand that he shouldn't say more. His smile didn't reach his eyes when he assured them, "I'm sure it will be fine."

XXXXXXXXX

Charlie and Bill hated Zacharias much more than they hated Malfoy, it turned out. They had been careful not to interact with the blond at first, skirting around him with cautious glares and distrusting expressions, but they warmed up to him as soon as they realized he was far from the biggest threat. Bill was still sour, and Harry knew he was thinking of the scars that marred his face, and was privately blaming Malfoy for them, but he was smart enough not to say anything to the Slytherin. He didn't even seem to want to after he made a snappish comment to Ron about it, and was answered with a shrug and Ron's embarrassed, "Yeah, well, Harry scarred him too with Sectumsempra in sixth year, and _they_ can still get along most of the time. I guess you could say it makes you even, almost, if you were to think about it."

Taylor Henderson took up most of Angelina's attention, which was fine with Harry, since it seemed he had to constantly remind Oliver Wood that they were all one team now; there was no separation between their houses, so, no, the Slytherin's were _not_ trying to keep them from winning. Even after he had explained it, Oliver didn't seem to understand the concept of them all working in harmony, and Harry nearly fell off of his broom laughing when Ron accidentally bounced a quaffle off of Zabini's head, and Wood had cheered, only to look confused when Ron shouted a mortified apology to the glaring slytherin.

Zacharias Smith took a turn trying to hit bludgers at Malfoy while they practiced, and though Harry had been concerned, his attention had quickly been taken over by Pansy, who had started a screaming match with Charlie, mistaking his comments about a dragon he was working with to be a comment about Draco. Harry didn't need to worry too much, though, since Malfoy was able to hold his own just fine, and every attempt Smith made to hit him was in vain, besides one, which only showed a bludger bouncing off of Malfoys thigh, (which Harry thought looked very good in his Quidditch gear) which earned a raised eyebrow and a snarky, "I thought you were hitting bludgers at me, not fruit flies. Put your shoulder into it, I barely felt that!"

Harry knew Malfoy looked at him to see if he laughed, and he quickly pretended he didn't, which evidently didn't fool the blond at all, as he glided past and said tauntingly, "Don't smile, Potter, your face might crack."

A grin immediately burst across Harry's face, and he punched the Slytherin on the arm with a snort as they came in from practice. Overall, Harry thought they had done well for their first time, and their guests agreed, besides Oliver, who had at some point made a list of every flaw they needed to work on. He also gave Harry a stack of old game plans, and a warning about trusting Slytherins which had him rolling his eyes as the four left. When he turned around, his team was huddled together, sans Smith, and were all looking at him expectantly.

"Is there something you all know that I don't?" Harry asked accusingly, absolutely certain that they had been plotting just then. Even Malfoy looked to be in on it, and had a smug grin on his face. "Well?"

"Hogsmead." Hermione said proudly, "We're going."

"Are we?" Harry asked in surprise, "There isn't another trip for a week at least."

"We're pretty much adults, Harry." Malfoy said with a roll of his eyes, and Harry hoped his delight didn't show at Malfoy using his first name, "McGonagall said that as long as we let her know, we can go to Hogsmead whenever we like, so long as nobody is alone for the trip."

"Are you in, mate?" Neville asked anxiously, his face flushed from the cold.

"We'll have to change clothes." Harry said, taking in his mud-caked uniform. He wasn't sure how it had gotten so filthy; he hadn't once been near anything dirty. Neville's reserve jersey was already torn on the side, and Harry didn't even want to know how he had managed that.

XXXXXXXXX

McGonagall was unsurprised at their request when she caught them in the hall on the way to change. She had taken one look into their shining faces and said in a dry tone, "I'm guessing you're all about to ask about Hogsmead, if your excitement is anything to go by."

"We just figured that we needed more opportunities to bond, being such a small class now." Hermione said quickly, and Ron nodded his agreement enthusiastically, his arm draped around her shoulders dotingly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and asked with a hint of a smirk, "So, sharing classes, dorms, and a table at breakfast hasn't been enough?"

Hermione flushed red, and Rons nod stuttered to a stop, but McGonagall shook her head and said with a small smile, "You have my permission, all of you, so long as you are always with somebody. Do try to be back before dark, and I expect you maintain our reputation as a good school with respectful students, is that understood?"

"Of course, ma'am. We'll be at our best." Zabini said silkily, and she nodded her acceptance. They had begun to walk down the hall past her when she cleared her throat, and they paused, turning to look back at her.

She seemed almost sheepish for once, and her eyes had settled on Malfoy through her spectacles. she said slowly, some private message hidden in her face that Harry couldn't read, "Mister Malfoy, I'll ask you to stay behind for a few minutes, please, and you can catch up at the gates."

Harry thought she looked rather uncomfortable, and Ron must have read it the same way, because he quickly raised his chin, blue eyes darting between her and Malfoy to say, "You can trust him, Proffessor, he's on our team."

"He's our _friend."_ Neville corrected, and stepped beside Malfoy anxiously.

McGonagals eyes widened, and a look of surprise painted over her face before she settled on relaxed amusement to nod, saying simply, "So he's told me. Don't worry yourselves, I know perfectly well that Mister Malfoy is trustworthy. As it stands, I have a private matter to discuss with him before he leaves. It won't take long. Come, Mister Malfoy."

The blond shrugged, and followed her in the opposite direction towards her office, while Harry and the rest of the team went silently off to change into day clothes. Zabini had frowned the entire walk, and asked, "I wonder what that was about?"

"Probably his application to work at the ministry as an unspeakable." Neville shrugged, and sat on the lid of his trunk to wrestle a sock onto his foot. Harry hadn't known about that, and he wondered if he would see Malfoy at the ministry when he became an auror. Maybe they would go for lunch and talk about their cases-or, Harry would talk about his cases, and Malfoy could talk about whatever he wanted. He was distracted by Neville calling at him, "Throw me my shoe, will you? Malfoy used it to crush a spider the other day and never brought it back."

Hermione ended up having to double back to the dorms for a pair of gloves when they met at the gate, and by the time they see her come through the doors of the school she is sprinting, red-faced, with Malfoy beside her. It takes Harry a moment to realize that they're not being chased by something, but rather they are racing one another, and he pockets his wand embarrassedly, not having realized he had whipped it out to defend them. Hermione beat Malfoy by half a centimeter, and they had both run so hard that they had to crash to a stop, Hermione landing in Ron's arms, and Malfoy against Neville's chest. Harry had never seen Malfoy look so out of breath, and the image sent all sorts of terrible ideas to his head before he could stop them. It was only ruined by the fact that he was braced against Neville for support instead of Harry, and Harry decided he didn't like the curious look Zabini was sending his way when he finally tore his eyes away from them.

Ron steadied Hermione easily, a proud grin on his face, and he teased lightly, "What's the matter, Malfoy, your short little legs couldn't keep up?"

Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow, and retorted, "My legs may be short, but I make up for it in other regions."

"Gross, Malfoy." Hermione groaned immediately, and Zabini snorted appreciatively as Ron reached across to punch him, rolling his eyes.

"Ow!" Malfoy chuckled, "I was talking about my brain, or course! It's exceedingly large, as is usually the case for the Malfoy line."

They bantered for a moment, and some time during that Malfoy must have realized he was still leaning against Neville, because suddenly his face went very pink and he was standing beside Harry in a flash, looking embarrassed. Nobody else seemed to notice, though, and Harry felt dizzy when he realized how comfortable Malfoy had looked when he was pressed against Neville. He looked lost when he pulled away, and the hurt was back in his eyes again, but Harry didn't say anything, and neither did anyone else, as they picked their brooms up from the ground and straddled them.

They each flew alone besides Hermione and Ron, and by the time they landed in front of Honeydukes his face was pale from having been squeezed so hard, and Hermione's legs were shaking slightly from the adrenaline. They stored their brooms in the alley beside the sweets shop, and Hermione cast a quick disillusionment charm to keep anyone from noticing or stealing them. They decided they would come back to Honeydukes at the end of their visit to keep the candy from melting in their pockets. It had been Pansy's suggestion, as she grudgingly told them about a time in fifth year where a chocolate frog had melted in her back pocket and had left her with a very incriminating stain.

They went to The Three Broomsticks first, talking and laughing the entire walk, and Harry was glad to hear that Hermione had found out who was bullying Malfoy, and had taken it upon herself to curse them hard enough that they had been sent to the hospital wing for a week. Ron beamed at his girlfriend, and Malfoy told them sheepishly that nobody had bothered him since, prompting Neville to cheerfully throw an arm over his shoulders. He didn't notice Malfoy flinch and shrink at the contact, a fractured look in his grey eyes, but Harry did, and it made his heart clench again. His fists twitched automatically, and he thought vengefully, _I would never make Malfoy feel unwanted._

After they shared a round of butterbeers, they moved on to Gringotts to withdraw spending money. Harry didn't get much, just a handful of galleons, because he didn't plan on spending much, but it seemed nobody else had the same idea, and he suddenly wondered if he was missing something as they headed back onto the street, pockets clacking with gold as they walked.

Malfoy wasn't as rich as he used to be, Harry knew, but he still had a significant amount of money in the bank, and ended up being convinced by Pansy to buy a round of ice cream for everyone in the group from Florean Fortescues, which had Harry shaking his head in amusement as he imagined the Slytherins swindling a younger version of Malfoy into buying them all ice cream as well. They finished the cones by the time they made it to their destination at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and Harry felt remarkably at ease as the group marched into the store, separating off to look at different products.

Harry was looking at a pygmy puff that had escaped its crate and was scuttling across his shoe when George appeared at his ear, looking tired but not unpleasant. He nodded his acknowledgment, and asked, "How 're ya, Harry?"

"Good as I'll ever be I suppose." Harry shrugged, and bent down to pick up the pygmy puff gently. It settled quickly in his palms, and he striked a finger over its purple head. He wondered if he should buy it for Ginny, and asked George thoughtfully, "How much are these, again?"

"For you?" George grinned, the ghost of his old humor in his eyes, "No charge. Don't tell Ron that, though."

"Too late." Said Ron, coming up on Harry's left with Malfoy at his side, "Ron already found out."

George blinked, taking in Malfoy, and asked accusingly, "Is that Malfoy, or did one of you eat a chameleon candy?"

"A what?" Harry and Ron frowned.

"New candy." George says cautiously, never taking his eyes off of Malfoy, "It uses a diluted form of polyjuice potion, and can change you into somebody else for five minutes. I don't think we sell one of Malfoy though, seeing as how nobody is stupid enough to try and look that ugly."

"Better looking than you I'd wager." Malfoy shrugged, although his cheeks had turned slightly pink.

"Yeah?" George countered, narrowing his eyes, "Nice scars."

Harry's chest tightened, and Ron paled, but George smirked nastily and touched his own forehead, gesturing to where one of Malfoy's short, thin scars sat along his eyebrow. Malfoy appeared startled, and Ron was looking between the two in horror, not sure who he should step in for, when Malfoy's face relaxed and he said smoothly back, "Nice ears-or shall I say, _ear._ "

"Malfoy!" Ron growled in warning, but Harry stepped in front of him instinctively, catching even himself by surprise.

"Standing up for the ferret, eh Harry?" George asked, a dangerous look in his eyes.

Hermione caught the exchange from across the store, and Harry could not have been more relieved when she hurried over, her face creased with anxiety, to seize Malfoy's elbow and haul him away, making an excuse of, "You have got to see these new love potions, Draco, the bottles are just gorgeous!"

Ron, Harry, and George watched them go in silence, and stood for a long moment before George pointed between the two of them and demanded, "I want an explanation-NOW."

They told him as best they could about how they had made amends, and how Malfoy was their sort-of friend, although they tried not to use that word incase it sent George into a fit of anger. Harry had forgotten completely about the bad blood between the families, and felt nauseous when he realised that George might not accept the blond, and could potentially ask them to choose between them, which Harry wasn't ready for at all. George was a part of his family, really, but Malfoy was-well-he didn't know _what_ Malfoy was, but he was keen on finding out. He didn't think a fight with George Weasley would endear the blond to him at all, and he hoped his words were enough to save them.

They were, but only barely. George wasn't happy with them, but he didn't threaten to kick Malfoy out of the store, and he didn't harass him either, so Harry counted it as a win, even though technically now George was ignoring all of them, and had suddenly decided that Harry _did_ have to pay after all if he wanted the pygmy puff. It was a small price to pay, and though Ron was grey with worry, Harry thought they had been let off easy when George left them alone, saying only, "I don't trust him."

He stayed away from them after that, and Harry reunited with Malfoy to look at cauldron pops after spending a half hour lazily exploring the aisles, saying awkwardly, "er, sorry about what happened with George. I didn't think what he would do if he saw you in his store."

"It's fine." Malfoy shrugged, but Harry got the distinct impression that he wasn't. He opened his mouth to ask, but lost the opportunity when Ron rounded the corner, horror in his face, and practically sprinted to the pair of them.

"Put down everything you have, we are leaving."

"What?" Harry frowned, "Why?"

"He fire called father. He bloody went for the jugular, the prick!" Ron panted. "We've got to get out of here, I just saw him walk in the front door."

As he said it, Harry saw Arthur Weasley's head a few aisles away, and he felt his stomach coil apprehensively. Malfoy's eyes went wide and he spun around to look at Ron in horror, demanding in a shrill voice, "You didn't _tell him?!_ You write him all the bloody time and you didn't once mention we were friends?!"

Ron's ears went red and he shot back in a panic, paler than he was when Hermione had held onto him on the brooms, "I didn't _know_ we were friends! You never say we are, so how am I to know I should call you that?!"

"I don't do homework for acquaintances, Weasel, you should know that we are friends by now!" Malfoy snapped back, but Harry could feel the undercurrent of hurt in his voice. This time, Ron felt it to, and quickly tried to keep Malfoy from feeling offended.

"I didn't-it's not as if you told your father either!"

Even Harry knew that was a stupid thing to say, and groaned internally.

"Yes, because Azkaban is so good at delivering post, isn't it?" Malfoy sneered, and it wasn't an undercurrent anymore; Harry could see the pain in Malfoys face, and Ron looked sick at being faced with that expression. Harry knew what Malfoy thought, whether Ron had meant it that way or not. _He thinks we don't want him as our friend. He thinks we don't want him around; that we're ashamed of him._ Harry's heart collapsed in on itself when he added, his eyes hard and dark, "I would have told him, though, because I don't have to hide my friends from the people I care about."

Harry didn't know how to fix it; how to keep the invisible wound from bleeding like that. Ron made to apologize, frantically shaking his head, but Arthur Weasley had begun to walk toward them, and Malfoy had already turned and walked away.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry thought they were lucky Malfoy didn't leave the store entirely, and instead stuck around near the back, doing his best to avoid being seen. Maybe that meant he didn't hate them if he stayed. Harry caught his eye every few minutes, but the wounded look never once dissipated, and Harry felt worse and worse as he carried on conversation with Arthur Weasley, who was oblivious to Draco Malfoy's presence. Apparently, George hadn't told him why he had really invited him to the store, and had brushed it off as being a chance to see his son, Harry, and Hermione before they went back to the castle. Harry glared daggers at George every time he passed, but it wasn't taking effect, and the redhead kept looking for Malfoy smugly, refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

Hermione didn't seem to know what was going on at all, but she paled when she spotted them chatting with Mister Weasley, and immediately followed turned to search for Draco, her face red with anger. She didn't prove successful, and the boys tried their best to keep Arthur distracted until they knew Malfoy wouldn't be spotted, but George eventually caught his attention by calling with a smirk, "Hey dad, I picked up some new muggle lightbulbs you might like. There's a twisty one that you don't have yet, and one thats got red glass instead of clear."

Harry and Ron already saw that Malfoy was about to cross paths with Arthur, but there wasn't a chance they could stop it happening. They stood in horror instead, watching with lumps in their throats and knots in their stomachs.

"Malfoy." Was Arthurs growl at stepping into Draco's path, and George looked delighted as he watched the two of them freeze.

"Mister Weasley." Draco nodded slowly, his eyes wide and startled. They flicked towards Harry and Ron and suddenly Harry realized what Malfoy was trying to think up what he should say. He turned back to Arthur before Harry could help him, and began slowly, swallowing dryly, "I, uh, I wanted to say-"

"I heard some news about you recently, Malfoy." Arthur cut him off, a smirk growing across his face. Harry had a terrible feeling in his gut, and he was vaguely aware of Neville sliding beside him as Arthur continued gloatingly, "Heard that you asked Neville Longbottom to the Yule Ball, and he shot you down so quickly your head spun."

Draco's head snapped up and Harry felt his breath leave him. Everything Malfoy had been trying to hide was on display across his face.

"Says a lot that you can't get daddy to buy him into being your date anymore, eh? Guess that last name isn't all you thought it was."

"How-how did you find out about that?" Malfoy asked, and his voice was so small and fragile that Harry has to look away from him to keep from being sick.

"Thought it was a secret, did you?"Arthur asked, but his voice had changed at Malfoys tone, and he struggled to act like it didn't bother him as he admitted, "Ronald told me. You know him; the one you bullied for seven years? How pathetic; you act so much better than us, but you can't even get a date to a bloody dance without daddy's help."

Harry and Neville looked at Ron the same moment that Malfoy did, and Harry saw red at the horrified, guilty look on Ron's face. He shook himself quickly, and moved away from Harry, going to grab his fathers elbow to insist, "Dad, don't. Let's go, he's not worth it."

"I'm not, am I?" Draco asked, eyes narrowing. Every eye was on them. It seemed everyone in the store collectively held their breath, watching in silence, as Malfoy spat venomously towards Ron, "Is that because I'm a Malfoy, because I'm gay, or _because we aren't friends_?"

" _I didn't mean it like that_ , Malfoy." Ron said quickly, but Malfoy wasn't listening.

"Actually, it probably has more to do with the fact that you were a death eater." Arthur interjected, unimpressed. "Or that you killed Dumbledore, letting your little friends in through that cabinet."

"Dad, don't!"

"My son has scars because of you!" Arthur exploded without warning, his face as red as his hair, "Don't think I'll forget that! You poisoned Ron! You tried to _murder_ Dumbledore!"

Draco looked increasingly sick, and Hermione quickly ran down the aisle, insisting, "That's not all though! He helped us, too! It wasn't his fault; his family was being threatened!"

"Don't, Hermione, I don't need to explain myself to him." Draco hissed.

"And mine wasn't?" Arthur demanded in surprise. "Doesn't matter the motive, he still nearly got two of my sons killed!"

"He is also the reason one of them is _alive_!" Hermione replied hotly, "He didn't identify us at the manor, and _he could have!_ He was _tortured_ , he didn't have a _choice_! He didn't even want the mark, and he didn't want to kill anybody!"

"He-"

"He fought on our side, dad." Ron finally sighed, resigned, "It's over; the war is over. The only way it can _stay_ over is if you let it lie. You would have killed for us. Mom _did_ kill for Ginny. Malfoy-well, he's actually our friend."

"You-" Arthur startled, then looked around the room, relaxed a fraction, took a deep breath, and said, "You're right. I trust you, and if you think he can be trusted, then I won't stop you from befriending him. I don't like it, or his family, but you're right. My fight is with his father, not him."

"It's as close to an apology as you'll get, Malfoy, I'd take it." Ron joked breathlessly, his smile shaking with the tension that remained in the room unspoken. George was sulking in the doorway to the back room.

Malfoy nodded stiffly, sticking out his chin a little haughtily, just for the sake of dignity. And then Neville said, "For the record, Malfoy, we can go to the dance as friends, if you want. Ginny and Luna are doing it, and...well, I think we would have fun. No groping below the belt, though."

"What?" Draco said, startled. Arthur blinked at them in surprise, and Harry felt way too hot and way too off balance considering what had just happened between Malfoy and Arthur Weasley.

Neville continued sheepishly, "I meant to ask earlier, really, I just didn't know how. But, I mean, if you can do it, so can I. It's not going to be romantic, and we are not a couple, but...Draco, will you please be my date to the Yule Ball?"

"Only if Potter isn't available." Draco joked shakily, which made Harry's heart soar for a moment before he caught the playful glint in Malfoy's eye.

Malfoy wanted Neville, not Harry, and the lighthearted joke seemed to drive the point deeper into Harry's chest, slicing him like a knife. He forced himself to swallow and said, "No, err, knock yourself out."

"It's a date, then." Drack smiled at Neville, then frowned, and said, "Or...it's not."

"I'm glad to be your not-date, Malfoy."

"Yes, well, I got tired of your begging."

Neville snorts and Ron gives him a thumbs up while Hermione beams, but Harry can't even make himself pretend to smile, and he almost thinks Malfoy deserved to have his heart broken only moments before, but he knows Malfoy is still hurt by what Ron and Arthur said, even if he isn't showing it, and he pushes his own pain aside in the hope that he can absorb some of Malfoy's and somehow lessen what he is feeling in that private, guarded mind of his.

Arthur doesn't stay long after that, seeming uncomfortable with Draco near, and George has a look on his face that is so sour nobody wants to stay a moment longer, and they head back onto the street quickly, none of them making a purchase. Harry, Ron, and Hermione split away to go to The Hogshead, and Harry thinks Ron is about to apologize to Malfoy for what had happened, but he closes his mouth at the last second and steps back. Pansy and Blaize link arms and head to Flourish and Blotts with taylor Henderson, and Neville tells them that he and Malfoy are going to the robe shop to pick out what they'll wear for the dance.

When they get to the Hogshead, Hermione immediately purses her lips and says to Ron, "You need to apologize to him."

Harry nodded his agreement, and Ron didn't bother arguing, putting his face into his hands to groan, "I didn't mean to say we weren't friends-of course we're friends, I only panicked and said something stupid."

"You told your father about him and Neville."

"Well, dad's got a grudge against him, and he kept pressuring me for information in his letters. He wanted me to tell him Malfoy was up to something, and I didn't think he would take kindly to us being chummy, so I told him about Nev to give him something so he'd quit pestering me. He wasn't supposed to _see_ Malfoy and _say something."_

"It was a violation of his privacy to send that." Hermione shook her head, and sipped slowly from her butterbeer, practically shaking. "You know how upset he was, and to give personal information to your father as ammunition is despicable."

"That's not what happened!" Ron insisted, "And you're blowing things out of proportion, Malfoy's fine!"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, and then closed it, looking at Harry to ask in surprise, "You didn't tell them?"

"Tell us what?" Ron asked suspiciously, giving Harry a strange look.

"I didn't think I was supposed to. It seemed really private." Harry said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn't stop replaying the image of Malfoy's devastated face in his head, and how even when his eyes were laced with tears the blond looked beautiful. He wondered why it took him so long to notice.

"I-it was. I jus thought you would-never mind."

"What?" Ron demanded impatiently, "What are you talking about that I'm not supposed to know?"

"Ron, Malfoy was way more upset than he let on. I mean, he came to the girls dorm in tears right after it happened, and we talked in the common room for nearly two hours about it. He's been heartbroken since it happened, I thought you knew. I thought Harry would have told you."

Ron snorted and said, "Malfoy's not heartbroken, 'mione, he's totally normal."

"Merlin, you're less observant than a brick." Hermione huffed, "If you knew him as well as you think you do, then you'd see he's been hurting these past few weeks."

"But he didn't say he was upset, he just said he was fine."

"And you say that you don't snore, but you do. Malfoy says he's fine, but he's the opposite, and he can hardly tell you because you'd just go and write it in a letter to your father for all we know and-"

"I already told you that I didn't mean for him to get hurt." Ron hissed.

"But he did, Ronald, that's the point! He got hurt, and you caused it, and you owe him an apology because I will _not_ sit by in silence while he spends another week crying his eyes out because he thinks you aren't his friend, or that Neville isn't either."

"What about Harry?" Ron pointed out grumpily.

"Harry hasn't _done_ anything...yet." Hermione said slowly, sighing, "Although if he doesn't pluck up the courage to ask him out already he will miss his opportunity."

"What?!" Harry yelped, nearly falling out of his seat in shock. _How did she know that he liked Malfoy?_

"Mate, even i can see you've been pining after him lately." Ron snorted, lifting his head to grin slightly in Harry's direction.

"Of course you'd notice _that,_ but you wouldn't see how giving your friends secrets to his fathers enemy would be a problem..." Hermione mumbled under her breath.

"I've known Harry way longer than Malfoy, of course I noticed." Ron countered with a glare.

"It's not about _noticing_ , it's about morals- it's about common sense, actually, too."

"Wait a minute, how can you guys know I like Malfoy, when I've only known a few days?" Harry demanded, slapping his hand down on the table in frustration. Their glasses rattled at the force and he winced at the sting in his palm.

"Days?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Try years, Harry." Hermione chuckled, and she and Ron high-fived over the table, which Harry thought was incredibly obnoxious of them, "We thought it would fade, but it seems you've only just started admitting your feelings to yourself, so I'd bet it lasts longer."

Ultimately, Hermione decided that Harry should ask Malfoy to the dance before things got to serious with Neville, so he could make a proper decision between them, insisting that Neville wouldn't mind if Harry stepped in at all. Ron didn't need to be told to apologize again, and soon they were headed to the robe shop to meet Neville and Draco. There was a reporter on the street from the Daily Prophet that recognized them and tried to follow, but Hermione cursed them and they fell back, sulking and nursing a wound to their hand.

They didn't find them at first, despite the store being practically empty besides an elderly sales woman with a hunched back and a hooked nose, milky white eyes blinking slowly as she organized an aisle of mens robes. Hermione was chewing her lip, and looked anxious as she passed through the mens aisle once more. Blaize and Pansy showed up shortly after they did, and the first thing out of Blaize's mouth was a stern, "Has Weasel apologized yet?"

"No, we're still looking for them." Hermione said quickly, before Ron could respond.

"They probably used the girls fitting room." Pansy suggested with a shrug, "It's much nicer in there and theres a nice little platform to stand on when you try on clothes so that you can see them better in the mirror. Draco always uses that one when it's empty."

"Oh." Hermione shrugged, and Pansy led them back, knocking on the door before she walked in.

Malfoy had shouted an urgent, "Wait!" but it had already proved too late, and the door swung open. Harry's mouth went dry and his heart stopped beneath his ribs at the sight in front of him, his entire body going warm as his knees nearly buckled. Malfoy was standing in shock in front of the mirror, a pale blue dress hugging his slim figure, a high collar kissing his throat, and lace sleeves tracing the delicate bend of his arm. He had never looked so beautiful before.

"I-it's not-"

"It matches the accents on my robes to the exact hue." Neville said loudly, grinning his encouragement at Draco, who looked as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "What do you think, then, doesn't he look gorgeous?"

Ron was gaping, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, and Hermione pursed her lips before she said slowly, "I still like the black one with the plunging neck line that Luna saw in that magazine last week."

"Err, they sold out of it. We looked." Malfoy whispered, his arms crossing self-consciously over his chest, fingers twisting nervously at a lose thread at one of his shoulders.

"This one makes your eyes look good, though." Neville shrugged, "and your arms look better in this one. The bracelets are a bit much, but it's your choice, Draco."

Harry couldn't say anything. He had a hot lump in his throat the size of a golfball, and he knew, looking at the way Malfoy was watching Neville, that he couldn't ask Draco to the ball when he was falling for another man.

Pansy studied him for a long moment, not saying a word, Zabini was as unsurprised as Hermione, and Ron exchanged a sympathetic look with Harry before he said shakily, "I might have a guess as to where Pansy's missing uniform went after all."

Xxxxxxxxx

 **Authors note:** thanks to everyone who has reviewed and read, you have no idea how nice it feels to have so much support from you all! I hope you continue to enjoy the story and keep commenting or leaving suggestions or critiques. Thanks again!


	11. Chapter 11

Chap 11

A week after their trip to Hogsmead showed things returning to normal, and Ron and Malfoy were getting on again, awkward but trying to understand each other better. Hermione was still trying to pressure Harry into asking Malfoy to the dance, but Harry had decided that Malfoy was far too interested in Neville to even consider him. She had merely shaken her head at him and muttered to herself about stubborn boys before she turned away from him and joined the conversation that Pansy was having with Luna.

"Is this seat taken?"

"What?" Harry asked, startling. HE looked up to find Draco staring down at him with a warm smile, his face washed by the sunshine that streamed through the window of the great hall. He was gesturing patiently to the spot on the bench beside Harry, who cleared his throat and said quickly, "No, not at all."

"Good, because I'm bloody starved." Malfoy sighed, and immediately began piling toast on his plate. Harry noticed that strawberry jam stuck to the edge of his hand when he moved to grab a goblet off the table. "Blaize didn't wake me up this morning, the prick. Thinks it's funny to watch me stumble around for a pair of pants."

"Or a skirt." Ron muttered, and Harry wondered when he had showed up.

"Or a skirt." Malfoy confirmed with a smirk, ignoring Ron's disgruntled expression. He had been trying to understand why Malfoy did it, and was doing hhis best to be understanding, but his confusion never faded from his face when they brought it up, even though Malfoy hadn't worn girls clothes since they caught him in the robe shop with Neville.

Harry sighed, leaving them to talk to themselves, and looked around the room lazily before frowning. _That's odd. Where is the morning post?_ There wasn't a single owl in the room, and while there hadn't been many this year, he still found it strange to see the hall completely devoid of them. Hermione seemed to realize it too, and was looking around the room in confusion.

"You've noticed too, have you?" She asked Harry slowly. "Not even a _Prophet_ has been delivered."

"Slow day, I guess."

"It's not just that." Hermione insisted, lowering her voice to a hiss as she bent her head closer to Harry's, "Look at McGonagall, she looks like she's ready to behead somebody."

Harry twisted around in his seat to see what she was talking about, and immediately his guard was up. McGonagalls lips were pressed into a thin line, her fists sat clenched on her the table, and her eyes were sharp and narrowed behind her spectacles.

"Something must have happened." Hermione whispered, straightening up and twisting the corner of her school robes in her lap, "It's got to have something to do with the post not arriving."

"Suppose somebody got a hexed package?" Ron asked through a mouthful of toast he had stolen off of Draco's plate when he wasn't looking. Harry hadn't realized that the two of them had stopped talking to listen in. "It's happened before, and they stopped delivering post for a week. My dad told me about it."

"Maybe the owls are sick." Malfoy suggested, "Blaize said that his seemed a little off balance the other night, so maybe there is an illness making it's rounds in the owlery."

"I doubt it would be enough for them _all_ to get sick." Harry shook his head, and his eyes flicked to McGonagall again apprehensively. She was staring directly at them, her expression cutting.

By the time they headed to potions they didn't have an answer, and though others had started to notice as well, McGonagall hadn't said a word about it, and made it clear she wouldn't be answering any questions on the subject with her glare. They had good and well forgotten about it by the time they had paired off in Slughorns classroom, and Harry felt his heart skip when Malfoy reached for the mandrake leaves on their desk and accidentally brushed his fingers against Harrys.

Harry didn't know what to say to the blond as they worked silently beside each other, cutting and measuring ingredients peacefully to the sound of Zacharias Smith and Hermione's whispered arguments about the procedure. Malfoy had started humming at some point, catching Harry so off guard that he had to stop and stare at the blond in surprise. Malfoy noticed he was being watched only after he realized that Harry's knife wasn't scraping against the desktop anymore, and had immediately stopped humming, his face turning slightly pink as he said embarrassedly, "Sorry, I got distracted."

Harry nodded, but couldn't help smirking when he askeed, "Was that a Celestina Warbeck song you were singing just then?"

"I wasn't _singing_ and no, you heard it wrong."

"It was, wasn't it?" Harry snorted gleefully, "How embarrassing, no wonder you're blushing like a girl!"

"Shut up and light the bloody fire."Malfoy snorted, and punched Harry's arm to try and stop him from sniggering.

"I will, if you admit you were singing along to Celestina." Harry baited, grinning at the blond.

"For the last time, I was not _singing,_ I was _humming_ , and it certainly wasn't the garbage music from that broad."

"You're trying to tell me that you don't like 'You Stole My Cauldron But you Can't Have My Heart', is that it, Malfoy? Because you seem to know the tune very well."

"Merlin, Potter, _shut up."_ Malfoy groaned, tipping his head back towards the ceiling, "Somebody is going to hear you."

"Nobody can hear us." Harry snorted.

"Light the cauldron, Potter, or I'll hex your bollocks off."

Harry grinned in return to the threat, enjoying the flush to Malfoys cheeks, and sang cheerfully into his ear, " _Oh yes, you stole my cauldron-"_

" _yes, you stole my cauldron."_ Hermione chimed from behind them, although she didn't look up at them and was busying herself with slicing a boar's eye, pretending she had done nothing out of the ordinary. Zacharias Smith startled beside her, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but didn't say anything. Harry had a feeling there was a tongue tying curse keeping him from commenting.

By the time Slughorn made his way to the desk, Harry had annoyed Malfoy with song lyrics thoroughly enough that he had decided to completely ignore Harry, doing most of the work while Harry cracked up beside him. As usual, Slughorn gave them a series of loud compliments, and patted Harry on the back before rounding the next aisle of desks. Nobody's had exploded yet-not even Ron and Neville's-and the atmosphere in the room was more relaxed than Harry remembered it being. He wondered if it was just because he was so comfortable standing beside Malfoy, joking around like they were friends-like he didn't want something more than that deep down.

Of course, since fate had always hated Harry, the moment that Harry thought this, Zacharias noticed that they were happy, and sought to ruin it. Without warning, a red flame zipped between Harry and Malfoy's elbows, and caught on the end of Malfoy's sleeve. Immediately, Harry saw the look of horror on Malfoy's face and cast an aguamenti to put it out, a thin trail of smoke curling up to the ceiling. There was hardly a scorch mark left on Malfoy's robes, but the angry color rising in his face didn't fade as he whirled around and snapped dangerously at Smith, "You bloody set me on fire!"

"So sorry, I was aiming for the cauldron." Smith drawled with a smirk, "Your flame was about to go out. I was only being helpful."

"You are the opposite of helpful!" Malfoy fumed, and shook his potions knife in Smith's face to snarl, "Try something like that again and I'll hack your fat bloody arms off!"

Zacharias looked delighted, and Harrys gut sank in on itself as he raised an eyebrow and looked down, saying silkily, "Well, I should be very afraid, then. Judging on those scars, you've clearly had practice."

Malfoy immediately looked down, and tugged his sleeves roughly over his wrists, where faded pink scars crisscrossed over his skin. Harry hadn't noticed before, and was ready to jump to Malfoy's defense when Smith continued loudly, capturing everyone's attention, "I do hope you don't plan to use those ugly things to accessorize that sexy little dress you're wearing to the dance. I mean, dressing as a girl is already embarrassing enough, what would your father say if he knew about those scars, too? I bet daddy would be so disappointed in his perfect pureblood son, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione was the first to move, whipping her fist back and smashing it so hard against Smith's cheek that he stumbled on the leg of his stool and fell to the floor with a crash, blood pooling on his upper lip as he glared nastily at her. Slughorn was hardly effected this time, as he had grown used to such outbursts, and merely sighed before going to his desk to write them in for detentions. There was whispering around the room as Malfoy looked around, pale and shaking, his eyes wide and glassy as a Ravenclaw boy snorted, "Malfoy's going in a dress? That's something I'm just dying to see! Think he can walk in heels, or do you figure he'll end up embarrassing himself like usual?"

Harry desperately wanted to say something; to make people understand that Draco wasn't what they thought, but Malfoy was out of the room before the boy had even finished speaking, and Harry was rushing after him, his stomach coiling impossibly tight as he saw Malfoy turn a corner in the empty hall with a hand pressed to his eyes, his nose red and his cheeks wet.

He followed Malfoy to a bathroom, and it was so similar to the time Harry sectumsempra'd him that he had to stop for a moment just to gather his thoughts and push the blood-soaked memory out of his mind. Malfoy was bent over the sink, breathing shakily, practically hugging himself as tears left ribbons across his face.

Harry didn't move, but he was sure Malfoy knew he was there, and finally the blond asked with a hiccup, "How did he find out? Nobody was supposed to know!"

"I don't know."Harry told him breathlessly, "None of us said a word about the dress-we wouldn't do that to you."

"Then how does he know?" Malfoy repeated, turning to look desperately into Harry's eyes, "He wasn't there, he can't have seen it!"

"Nobody told him, Malfoy." Harry insisted, but even he didn't sound certain of himself. "We're your friends, we wouldn't do that to you."

"I wasn't going to wear it." Malfoy sniffled, "I just-I didn't _really_ plan to wear it to the dance, I just thought it looked nice. I figured I could just wear it at home, I guess. I don't know what I was thinking, believing nobody would find out. I'm such an idiot!"

"You're not!" Harry insisted urgently, "Smith is an idiot for saying that stuff to you, and for making you feel like you're worth less than you are, but you're not stupid Malfoy. You're worth ten of him, at least!"

"Smith was never a death eater, though, was he?" Malfoy hissed derisively, and ripped his sleeve up past his elbow, the button popping off and skittering across the tiled floor. Harry wasn't looking at the dark mark though, but rather the small pink dashes on Malfoy's wrist that he had seen earlier.

"Smith's family was never threatened by Voldemort." Harry said quietly, then crossed the space of the bathroom to take Malfoys hand in his, turing the soft inner portion of Malfoy's hand up towards his face, tracing a puckered scar to ask quietly, "Is that why you did this to yourself?"

"That's none of your business." Malfoy said shakily, "These aren't recent. They're six months old, at the least. It's not-those were personal. I don't want to talk about those."

"You haven't been doing anything to yourself lately, then?" Harry asked, although he could tell that none of scars seemed fresh, and had completely healed, nearly invisible if you weren't looking for them.

"No. I haven't wanted to in a long time." Malfoy whispered, looking at his shoes instead of at Harry, who was lowering Malfoy's sleeve back down as he tried to catch the blonds eye.

"Skip today. I'm sure the others are worried about where we went off too, and it's not worth it for you to deal with the rumors all day. McGonagall will understand."

"I-okay."

"You ready, then? We can go to the dorms and play exploding snap to distract ourselves."

Malfoy gave him a watery smile and sniffled before he nodded, following Harry out of the bathroom cautiously. Harry could tell that Malfoy still felt like crying, but he didn't say anything, trusting that the blond would fall apart once they were in the privacy of their dorms, and there wasn't the chance of someone unwanted coming in to witness it.

"Harry! Draco!" Hermione shouted as they walked out of the bathroom and into the hall. She was flanked with Blaize and Ron, all three of them panting and looking anxious. "We were worried sick, you disappeared completely!"

Malfoy didn't answer, too busy looking at the floor to avoid meeting anyones eyes, and Ron said breathlessly, "Slughorn has Neville and Pansy in his office for hexing the pants off of Smith. You should have seen it; he's lucky he is still in one piece."

Hermione was giving Malfoy a sympathetic look, but Blaize looked subdued, his face blank and his eyes dark. He said slowly, meaningfully, "Draco, what Smith said about you was wrong, and he had no right to tell everyone all that stuff about you. It was personal and...I'm sorry that happened. Are you okay?"

Malfoy bit down hard on his lip, and shrank further into himself, and Harry's heart burst at the small sob that came from his mouth, shoulders shaking with tears. Ron's mouth popped open, and Hermione winced, but there wasn't a seconds hesitation before they were all hugging him, squished together and trying to console him.

That was how McGonagall found them, heads all bent together, talking quietly to make Malfoy understand that things weren't nearly as bad as he believed them to be. She cleared her throat softly and spoke so gently they almost didn't hear when she said, "30 points to each of you for coming together in a students time of need, regardless of your backgrounds and histories."

"He's our friend." Harry said, and was suddenly acutely aware that Malfoy's hand had slipped into his, and was far more warm and pleasant than he expected it to be.

"You keep saying that like I don't believe you." McGonagall frowned, "Draco has told me enough that I do, I can assure you. I would think that you'd like an explanation about what happened today, though, which is why I've come to find you and let Slughorn deal with your other friends and Smith."

Hermione nodded, and that was all the confirmation she needed before she turned away, leading them down the hall with a soft, "Follow me."

XXXXXX

Harry hadn't noticed before, but she had made several changes to Dumbledores old office. There were no more silver trinkets on the table's, and the upholstery on the chairs was an emerald green color that shone under the candlelight. She sat behind a cherrywood desk with her hands folded atop it, studying the group carefully before she said, "I didn't think it would get around so fast; I wanted to warn you before rumors appeared."

"What?" Malfoy sniffled, in the seat beside Harry, his fingers still curled snugly against Harrys knuckles.

McGonagall sighed and pushed her glasses up the long bridge of her nose before she explained in a strained voice, "A reporter from the Daily Prophet published some incriminating photographs from your visit to Hogsmead last week. I tried to stop the papers from arriving this morning so that I could brace you, but it seems the news traveled anyways."

"What-what did the paper say? What photo's were in it?" Draco asked anxiously, horror on his face.

McGonagall pursed her lips and took a moment to answer, saying slowly, "I think you have a good idea of what they could have been."

"In the robe shop-" Malfoy said through grit teeth, and his hand was gripping Harrys so hard it began to hurt, "I want to see the paper."

"Draco, you know that's not a good idea. You should-"

"No. It's about me, I have a right to know what everyone is going to be reading and saying about me." Malfoy growled, a new sheen in his eyes that had Harrys heart leaping into his throat.

"Very well." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, before she took a folded newspaper from her top drawer and slid it across to Malfoy, who snatched it up and read it aloud angrily.

" ** _Draco Malfoy, the youngest known Death Eater (pardoned), and son of famed Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, was seen in a robe shop on December first wearing a skin-tight dress as Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom looked on in horror."_**

"Is it necessary that you read it out loud?" McGonagall huffed as he glared holes into the paper.

"Yes." He said determinedly, and continued reciting,

" ** _When Potter and Weasley were asked about the event, they informed us that they found it "disgusting" and "completely shocking" that Malfoy would appear dressed as he was. Granger similarly commented that she "always knew Malfoy was perverted, and is glad to see that it is finally being made public how true that is."_**

 ** _Longbottom took an amused stance, and assured our source that he and the dream team "were only egging him on as a joke", claiming that, "Malfoy seemed to think he looked good, which was hilarious to us, so we told him to keep trying things on for us. He even did a twirl when I asked him to! It's no surprise he sided with Voldemort, if he's always been this sick in the head! What a laugh!"_**

"That is quite enough, mister Malfoy, I think we get the gist of what the article had to say." McGonagall finally stopped him, her arms crossed uncomfortably over her chest as she stared at the image of Malfoy that decorated the front cover, showing the blond in the dress, smiling at his feet, his cheeks just beginning to turn pink.

"I think you look great." Harry blurted, before he realized what he was saying.

"Those quotes aren't even _real_. I knew I should have hexed that reporter in the street with a much stronger charm." Hermione seethed.

"I know." Malfoy agreed, folding the paper in his lap as he said dramatically, "It's humiliating."

"Don't let them-"

"They printed Ron's name as _Ronald_. How embarrassing. Everybody knows that's one of the ugliest names there is." Malfoy shivered, "This has got to be hell for you, mate."

"You're such a prat." Ron scoffed, shaking his head, "And here I was feeling sorry for you, but not anymore Malfoy. You're a truly terrible human being, and I hope you trip on the edge of your bloody dress because you deserve it."

"We're very close, as you can see." Malfoy told McGonagall with a grin.

"Your mother received the paper this morning." Mcgonagall cut across him to say, and immediately the fear and anguish bled back into his face.

"What-what did she say?"

"She told me to let you know that she thinks you looked lovely, and that she can't wait to take you to Paris to try a designer she likes."

"Oh. I expected more of a meltdown." Malfoy blinked in surprise, the anxiety in his eyes beginning to edge out again.

Zabini snorted beside him to say, "What, you actually think she was surprised? We played dress up at your house until we were eight, and you bullied me into playing a prince so that you could be a princess and wear Pansy's sparkly dress."

"I forgot about that." Malfoy admitted thoughtfully, and McGonagall sighed loudly.

"You're going to have a rough few weeks before the dance, you realize, don't you Draco? The news is only going to spread, and I'm sure you know that not everybody harbors a good opinion of you after the war. I can excuse you for the next few days if you'd like some time to let the word die down, but I doubt you'll let me."

"No." Malfoy shook his head determinedly, "I know exactly who I am, and if I can survive Voldemort living in my house, I can survive a few pesky Hufflepuffs and their useless comments."

"Don't do anything rash." McGonagall warned with an exhausted groan, and Harry had a feeling she had been dealing with Malfoy's theatrics a lot lately, if she was already dreading them.


	12. Chapter 12

Malfoy used his newfound publicity to do what he did best the week before the dance, which meant he used it to make a statement and become the unwavering center of attention with a carefully constructed plan to dress more and more feminine as the days went on-and then act like nothing was different when people would ask him about it or comment on it, saying in confusion every time, "Oh, this? It's just an outfit I've had lying around forever, I'm not sure why I never wore it before."

Pansy reluctantly let Draco wear her uniform (which he had anyways) on the second to last day before the dance, and Harry had never seen so many people tripping over themselves to get a look at somebody before. McGonagall had been silent about his antics until that day, where she finally sighed and raised her hand to meet the high five he tried to give her in the hallway, saying a reluctant, "Good job, Mister Malfoy, your statement was very tastefully made. Now stop breaking my dress code."

Harry didn't know about the final part of the plan until the very last day, when he woke up to find a gaggle of girls in their dorm, all of them giggling and holding spare uniforms in their arms. Ron had laughed so hard he cried when Malfoy told them what he wanted them to do, but it didn't stop him from reluctantly going through with it, knobby knees visible beneath Hermione's spare school skirt, red leg hair clashing terribly with the print. Harry had sighed and squeezed into Luna's uniform after Malfoy gave him a pleading look and said passionately, "You all said you supported me in my right to wear what I want to, so can't you please do this for me? I'm not an embarrassment because I wear clothing marketed to another gender."

"You got that out of a book, didn't you?" Neville accused as he buttoned the last piece of Ginny's blouse, following a subtle sizing spell that corrected the fit on his broad shoulders.

Harry felt ridiculously stupid as he adjusted Luna's skirt for the fourth time in the Great Hall, but he couldn't remember ever being more impressed with Malfoy before as he led the awkward boys confidently to the Gryffindor table, his head high, and a smirk on his face. Nobody said a word when they all walked in, stumbling and awkward, but the tension broke when Taylor Henderson stood up with Luna to whistle appreciatively, triggering a wave of cheers and good-natured teasing.

By the end of the day, more boys had started to join the trend, giving Malfoy embarrassed but supportive nods as they shuffled past in their friends skirts, none of them quite able to pull it off like Malfoy could.

They made the paper the next day, the morning of the dance, and there was a rumor that McGonagall was going to have the article framed in her office with how maddeningly proud she was of them all. Zacharias Smith stayed silent and sulking, glaring every chance he got, but it didn't faze any of them in the least for once, which had Harry's heart soaring with excitement as he decided that maybe going to the dance, even if it wasn't as Malfoy's date, wouldn't be so bad as long as he got to see him smiling like that.

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His jealousy wasn't as bad as he expected it would be during the dance, as Malfoy's affection for Neville had been moved to friendship, but it still made his chest ache when they would press gently against one another on the dance floor, grinning and laughing to themselves over a joke Harry couldn't hear. _Merlin, did Malfoy look beautiful._

If Harry closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was enjoying himself, instead of sulking uselessly at the table Ron had acquired for their large group. Ginny had tried to keep up conversation with him, sensing his discomfort, but had ultimately given up and gone to dance with Luna, who couldn't quite keep up with the soft beat of the music, her arms waving wildly around her in a way that came close to being threatening. Ron and Hermione were off across the room, as Hermione patiently tried to teach Ron to slow dance, laughing every time he stepped on her foot or spun her too quickly. He met their eyes and forced a smile back at them, lifting his glass as if to toast them as they turned their attention back to one another again.

The room was so packed that Harry almost had trouble remembering all the people who had been killed in the war, and who weren't on the dance floor with their friends. He had expected that the pain would be worse, and it almost was when the light shone through a wine glass and flickered in Harry's direction, causing him to believe that for a split second he had seen Collin Creevey's camera shutter for a picture. But Collin was dead, and the party continued, Harry's face burning hot as he looked distractedly into his glass, sloshing his punch around the inner edges.

"My feet will never be the same after this!" Pansy announced loudly after a few more minutes of Harry's sitting alone. She had dragged Blaize off of the dance floor, and the two of them plopped down on the chairs beside Harry, almost unaware of his presence. Pansy unbuckled the clasps on her black heels, and kicked her shoes under her seat, bringing one foot up on her knee to rub it agitatedly.

Blaize narrowed his eyes at her and asked, when the skirt of her dress was pushed back from her calf, "You couldn't even shave your legs for this?"

Pansy quickly shoved the dress back into its proper place and stamped her foot as she said, "It's a long dress, I didn't think I would need to!"

"You didn't clip your toenails either." Blaize scoffed, and Harry tilted forward in his seat to see if it was true, only to have Pansy smack his arm agitatedly.

"My shoes are close-toed, and it's rude to make fun of a lady's appearance."

"Honey, judging by the hair on those legs, I think it's safe to say you are no lady." Blaize sniggered, then gestured to her feet to say, "Put those things away before you cut somebody with those bloody talons of yours."

"I'll be telling your mother you said that, then we'll see who is laughing." Pansy said, and poked his chest with a crooked finger, her eyes narrowed playfully as a smile quirked on her rouged lips.

Blaize snorted and then seemed to finally notice Harry, settling back in his seat to ask knowingly, "You going to ask Draco to dance, or what?"

 _"_ Or what." Harry said stubbornly, twisting away to look at the other end of the room. He had been looking for Zacharias Smith since the start of the dance to make sure he didn't try anything to bother Malfoy or his friends, but he had a feeling that Smith wouldn't be much of a problem anymore, considering that Malfoy had successfully gained the students favor. Smith's friends even seemed to like Malfoy a lot more lately, and one had even joined him and Neville to dance to an upbeat song early in the night.

"He likes you, you know." Pansy said loudly, not to be put off by Harry's attempts to avoid conversation. He still didn't look at her, and was determined not to be baited, but she continued anyways, somehow sure that he was listening, "He wanted to ask you before he wanted to ask Longbottom, but you argued with him so much he decided he didn't stand a chance, and thought to forget about it."

"He looks good with Neville." Was all Harry could think to say in response, but inside his chest felt like it was ballooning with uncertainty, hope just creeping into his heart.

"Please, Draco looks good with everybody." Blaize snorted, rolling his eyes, "Point is, Potter, that it's past time you make a move."

"I don't-"

"You've been giving him heart eyes since you found out he asked

Neville out, Harry. The worst thing he can do is say no, and the way he's looking at you, I say the chances of that happening are slim." Blaize shrugged knowingly, then sat back to say, "Unless you're too coward to look up and see him for yourself."

Harry didn't want to look, becuase that would mean the Slytherins would know they were right, but he found his head whipping up anyways, only to lower back down again when Draco didn't spare him even a half-glance. Harry said with a snort, "He _isn't_ looking at me."

"Exactly." Pansy smirked, "Because if he met your eyes right now, you would be able to read how much he wants you, and he wouldn't know what to do if you found out."

"I hate you both, I hope you know," Harry groaned, but he stood slowly, refusing to let apprehension leak into his gut.

He circled the dance floor five times before he finally got up the courage to ask Malfoy to dance, and only then because he had accidentally bumped his elbow, and Draco had turn around to smile brightly at him, shouting over the music, "I thought you didn't dance? Hermione said you hated things like this!"

"I do!" Harry answered back, barely able to hear himself over the pulsing music. _Oh God, he looks even better up close._ He cleared his throat and asked quickly, praying that he wouldn't have to repeat himself, "Want to dance with me?"

"With you?" Malfoy asked, his smile never fading, "I thought you'd never ask-just don't step on my foot, I took my shoes off ages ago and I've got nothing to keep them being pummeled by idiotic Gryffindors."

"I'll be careful to mind them." Harry snorted, and immediately tried to match Malfoy's pace to the thrumming bass in a song that Harry didn't know. He had only just figured out the groove of it, (making Malfoy laugh so hard at his dancing that he nearly tripped twice) when the song changed. It was slow and achingly romantic and they both froze, eyes locked on one another as Malfoys mouth popped open and Harry felt his eyebrows race up his forehead in surprise. He wasn't ready for this. He couldn't ask Malfoy to dance with him so intimately, not when he was there with Neville, who-Harry's eyes narrowed as he spotted the other Gryffindor boy. He was standing by the dj, smirking at the two of them and making obscene gestures that mortified Harry.

"You...uh...you don't have to-"

"Here, hold this."Malfoy finally sighed, rolling his eyes and dropping his hand into Harrys. "There, that's step one down. Now, continue holding that, and put your other hand on my waist, then try to move your feet. It's dancing, not a duel to the death, don't look so frightened, Potter."

"I-alright, then." Harry said, thrown completely off of his game by the soft hand that was resting in his. He didn't think he could handle more than that, but Malfoy was already pressed partially against him, looking up expectantly through long pale lashes.

"You haven't moved yet."Malfoy whispered, and Harry suddenly realized they were standing very still, just holding one another in the middle of the room. He realized it, and he couldn't do a thing to make his feet work how they were supposed to. Malfoy wasn't helping him to mend the situation, and his eyes were still locked with Harry's. He had the barest hint of a frown on his face, and the little scar that sat on the corner of his lip puckered slightly. Malfoy said gently, "Maybe we should try something different."

Harry didn't want Malfoy to move; didn't want to stop looking at him, or holding his hand, or feeling the fabric of the dress that separated Harry's palm from the flat curve of his back. He nearly said that, but suddenly found that Malfoy had wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, and moved his body closer to Harry's, his cheek resting on Harry's chest. He wondered if Draco could hear his heart beating out of control, and slowly lowered his hands down Malfoy's back to hold his thin hips, guiding them to sway softly along with the music. He couldn't remember ever feeling so at home in his life, and he swore, for a moment, that he was holding a piece of the galaxy to his chest, his hands just brushing the edges of Draco's small infinity. Draco was a set of stars, burning bright and beautiful against Harry. There was nothing but them. And then the song ended.

Neville cut through the crowd, Malfoys face shifted back to its normal smile, and he turned away from Harry, who could't help feeling he had nearly fallen into a black hole. His arms felt like lead, and he wanted to say something but the words stuck in his throat like honey and he didn't know what to do with his hands anymore, and his eyes had a mysterious pressure behind them, so the moment he gathered his senses, he turned around and stalked off of the dance floor, walked out the double doors, and marched to the dorms, collapsing on his mattress, fingertips still buzzing from touching the stars.

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 **Authors Note:** Once again, thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing, it means a lot to me that you have been keeping up with this story (which has sort of grown a mind of its own) and are continuing to enjoy it. Feel free to review, sorry this chapter is a bit short, the next one should be longer.


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